


The Swan and The Dove

by trylonandperisphere



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, F/F, Historical, Historical References, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 56,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trylonandperisphere/pseuds/trylonandperisphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris, 1944.  Delphine Cormier has taken it upon herself to work undercover against the Nazis.  It's a dangerous decision, as she puts her own body on the line to gather intelligence for the Allies.  Little does she know, she will find help in a voice coming over the airwaves from England.  Cosima Niehaus makes contact with her, and everything changes.</p>
<p>Note: There is now an accompanying playlist at http://theswanandthedove.blogspot.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And so it was, that, many eons ago, soitgoeschild(.)tumblr(.)com prompted me to write a cophine au fic set in the 1940s. This is what became of that prompt: A WWII Spy au. I hope you enjoy it. A million thanks to whatiwrite4, rewindreplayok and cophinaphile for beta-ing! Note: Rated M for violence, sex and mature themes. This is set in wartime, so watch for your triggers.

The radio was silent too long.   Delphine Cormier nervously bit her lower lip and pushed her blonde curls aside, so she could move the second earpiece of her headset over her left ear.  She checked the dials to make sure she was at the right frequency.  Nothing.

It was hot in her flat. Summer was approaching Paris in 1944.  Her nerves made her feel the sheen of sweat on her face even more keenly.

She switched to broadcast.

“Bonjour, this is The Swan. Connect 17?”

Back to receiving.  She twisted the tuning dial lightly from side to side, hit a sudden blast of static and clutched her earpiece. Before she could turn the volume down, however, there was an abrupt splash of music, fuzzy and distant.  She turned the dial again and it came in clearer.  A lone clarinet reeled sweetly over a big band.  Delphine breathed a quick sigh of relief.  

The music faded out and a voice came on.

“Connecting 17, 17 for The Swan.  Bonjour,”

Delphine’s brow furrowed.  This was not the usual voice.  This was the voice of a woman — one with less correct French pronunciation than her usual contact.

“Oui, 17. I have seen the bear,” Delphine responded.  

The line was silent for a moment.

“The…bear…” repeated the voice on the other end, somewhat hesitantly.  There was series of noises like pages being shuffled, and the mic being moved around.

“Roger, the bear, gotchya, Swan,” the woman finally declared, this time in unexpected English.  “Please begin transmission.”

Delphine hesitated.  The change in voice, the bobbled password, the delay in reception gave her a quick, cold chill.  She had to decide quickly if the line had been compromised.

“17,” she responded. “Non.  I need station confirmation.”

“Oh,” the woman answered. “Oh, crap.  Hold on.”

Delphine’s fingers hovered over the OFF switch.  This was too suspicious.  She should cut her connection.  But something in the youthful, open sound of the woman’s voice on the other end made her pause, give it another chance.

“Shush, dzeh, wollachee, gah,” the voice came through again.  “And remember, there’s no cigarette like a cigarette made from fine, Turkish tobacco.”

Delphine’s hand went to her forehead.  The code was correct, but the woman’s voice trying to sound like a regular radio announcer almost cut through her nerves to make her laugh.

“Okay, 17. Swan transmitting,” she relayed into the mic, and proceeded to read off a list of paired letters.  This went on for some minutes.  She tried to be clear and give time for the recipient to get them down, but the longer this broadcast went on the more vulnerable she felt.

“Okay, Swan. Orders,” the woman on the other end confirmed.  She read out a shorter sequence of letters.

“Mercí, 17,” Delphine hesitated once again, concern and curiosity pushing her to ask.  “17, who is your announcer? Is Deercatcher there?”  Her usual contact had been there from day one.  Not hearing his familiar baritone was almost disorienting.

“Negative, Swan.  Deercatcher is off the air,” the woman responded, after a brief pause, again mixing English with her French.  There was something apologetic, sad in her tone.

“He won’t be back,” she offered, dropping any of the usual military cadence.  “This is The Dove.”

Delphine blinked.  What could have happened to him?  And who was this Dove person?  She actually sounded more like some American teenager than a British SIS officer.  And why “the Dove?” Was that some reference to the “Wrens,” the Women's Royal Naval Service?  Delphine wasn’t sure what to think, or if she should say any more.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Swan, listen, I’m sorry.  I can’t tell you any more right now.  Just keep your eyes on the chimneys.”

“On… the chimneys?” Delphine was truly baffled now.

“Just keep your eyes open.  Good work, don’t worry, and good luck.  Signing off.”

Music faded back in.  Delphine actually let it run for a few bars before switching off.  Every transmission from her Allied contacts had been orderly, carefully coded, and clear until now.

_“Merde,”_ she breathed to herself.  She was going to have to move her radio set.

* * *

 

Special Agent Cosima Niehaus was going through the file again, head cocked, serious, squinting in thought even though she was wearing her usual eyeglasses.  Specialist Scott Smith observed the scattered radio parts around her, the tools, the crumpled maps and dog-eared books.  

“How’s it going?” he asked, putting a mostly-warm cup of officer’s club coffee on her desk.  She had been through the file several times, and she was lingering on the photos once more.  He had to admit, that Delphine Cormier was quite a doll.  In fact, he’d probably trade his locker pin-up of Betty Grable for a good one of her, and Marie McDonald wouldn’t even be a contest.

“Oh, hmph,” Cosima grunted, flipping the folder closed and picking up the coffee.  “Fine.  She’s just really interesting, this one.  She’s been in some close calls, and she’s gotten pretty high up.  Frankly, I’m tickled that we can get voice transmissions with her.  I guess if her parents hadn’t been shortwave enthusiasts, she’d just be another set of dots and dashes — if she even got a set at all.” Cosima cocked her head in the other direction. “She’s got a real nice voice, doesn’t she?”

Scott couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, a reeeeal nice voice — and how!”

“Alright, brother, don’t get all worked up,” Cosima smirked.  “You’re gonna steam up your glasses.  Thing is, I’m kind of worried.  I kind of get the sense she isn’t the best liar in the world, and things are really startin’ to cook in Paris right now, but I don’t see any plans to pull her before she gets grilled.”  She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of the coffee.  “And y’know, von Leekie is no joke.”

“Huh, I’ll say,” Scott answered. “Although I guess we’ve got a lot of agents in the same boat.”  

“That’s the thing,” Cosima pointed out. “We don’t. She’s not an SOE or OSS agent. She’s been in France the whole time.  She didn’t even try to escape or lie low when the Germans came in.  She got herself back to Paris and looked for contacts at her own risk, then went ahead with pulling a high ranking SS officer in, which, being with that kind of creep, has gotta practically be torture itself.  That takes crazy guts.  But it also means she’s not trained in combat and evacuation.  She’s practically a sitting duck, especially if we’re not careful about these transmissions.”

“Wow,” Scott frowned.  He gestured at one of the parts on her desk. “So is that what you’re working on with that piano roll?  You still want to try that?”

“I know it’ll work, even if I make it smaller,” Cosima nodded, then interjected as Scott began to open his mouth “and I know the Navy put the kibosh on it, but we’re not Navy, are we?”

Scott gave a nervous smile and shook his head.  “Nope, I guess not.  So you’re planning to…”

“Get her operation in defilade, as it were,” she answered, with one of her mischievous grins.  Scott knew it just might get him in trouble, but he also knew Cosima’s plans usually led to some pretty fun hijinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing was safe.  Delphine knew that.  Up until now her ruse seemed to have convinced everyone except a few of her undercover contacts of her motives as a social-climbing Nazi _collaborationniste._ But everyone knew things were changing.  You could feel it in the air, read it between the lines in the newspapers.  And, of course, she knew, because she was working for the other side.

“So, you are telling me you studied science before the start of the war?” Hauptsturmführer Faustrecht asked her over the table.

“Medicine and microbiology.  Isn’t that something?”  Öberführer von Leekie replied for her, chuckling.  “The beautiful creature you see before you is not just a socialite.  Sometimes I tease her that I should send her to Haupsturmführer Doktor Mengele to work with the prisoners.  Perhaps cultivating the genetics of the Master Race could use a woman’s touch.”

A laugh went around the table amongst the officers and their girlfriends.  Delphine put a smile on her face, but inside she shivered.  She had heard rumours about Mengele and the concentration camps.  Making this joke was also another one of von Leekie’s thinly veiled threats, a means of controlling her, making her squirm.  

“However,” von Leekie continued, “I find her so useful here in Paris, for many reasons.”  He didn’t wink, but he had a suggestive tone.  The officers laughed again.  Delphine took a sip of her wine.

“Not just as you think,” von Leekie added.  “Miss Cormier’s connections prove useful.  I dare say she makes up for some percentage of the incompetence of the Vichy government.”

More laughter.  Delphine was growing thin.  Not just physically, as she had found herself unable to eat from plate after plate put in front of her while knowing people outside were starving, but thinner-shelled, more worn, every ounce of her energy spent on keeping information straight on both sides — Axis and the Allies — while covering all that was good, moral and fierce about her to keep von Leekie’s and the occupiers’ trust.

Von Leekie put on his usual show for both his cronies and his visitors.  If anything, he acted even more positive, more jocular as more bad news for the Third Reich trickled in from all sides of the front.  His flares of anger would be more sudden, crueler, making her wonder how idle his threats toward her really were.  The only good thing was that his interest in her as a sexual object seemed to be decreasing.   Even if the times he required her were sharper, rougher, they happened less often, and they were usually quicker — up against a wall, atop his desk.  But Delphine needed to know there was a balance.  At this point, she would welcome von Leekie tiring of her, but not so much that it meant he disposed of her in a life-threatening way.

A courier came striding quickly to the table, his dusty boots betraying a swift and urgent ride from the countryside.  Delphine pointedly looked the other way, leaning to accept a light of her cigarette from a nearby officer.  She did, however, listen intently.  She silently felt simultaneous shots of adrenaline and relief as she heard a particular name and something about a truck.  Another Nazi collaborator framed as a member of the resistance, his goods by now making their way to a series of churches and barns for distribution to those who sorely needed them.  Once again her intelligence had paid off.

Von Leekie’s lips compressed from their usual thin line to near nothingness.  He examined the paper from the courier and turned to Faustrecht.

“Haptsturmführer Faustrecht, it seems there’s been a misallocation of goods and funds via one of the inspectors.  Come to my office and we will discuss how this escaped your department’s attention.”

The table went silent for a moment, then some forced conversation began amongst the officers in order to distance themselves.  Faustrecht stood up smartly and followed von Leekie and his assistants, to his credit only paling a shade.

Delphine joined in idle chatter about the availability and quality of fabrics for upholstery and drapery.  The surreality of the moment in Delphine’s mind was more easily managed knowing that one mission had been completed.

* * *

 

Alone in her flat, Delphine smoked a cigarette, her gaze turned out her window, but her thoughts turned inward.  It would be time for her next orders soon, and she wondered what the new contact, “The Dove,” as she was called, would have in store for her.  She worried briefly about Deercatcher, and why he had disappeared from her channel.  He was always very soft-spoken, polite, in contrast with the casual, brassy, inherently _American_ tone of the woman who took his place.  She hoped that he had merely been transferred, but she suspected worse.  

The new woman, however, intrigued her.  There was something in her voice and manner of speaking that was distinctly non-military, both confident and confused.  It seemed friendly, but Delphine found herself having to put a check on the oddly eager curiosity it sparked in her.  She reminded herself that it was not familiar, and thus wasn’t safe.

Not that even the familiar was safe, anymore.

A flash of flame suddenly flickered outside her window.  Someone was on the roof of one of the buildings across from her, lighting a pipe.  Delphine pulled her robe tighter, peering into the darkness.  There was just enough light to see him dimly, an older man in a slouched hat, some sort of large case dangling from one hand.  It was suspicious, to say the least, and she reached for her curtains, only to realize something: he was leaning against a chimney.

The man raised a finger and placed it pointedly against his nose, looking directly at her.  Another puff of his pipe, and he disappeared through the roof door.

It was dawn when she was awakened from troubling dreams to an irregular clicking against her windowsill.  She peeked through the curtains.  There was a pigeon perched there, cocking its head at her with a coo.  It appeared to be wearing some sort of harness.

* * *

 

“Alright, congratulations, Swan, glad you made it,” the Dove answered, her voice warm with, perhaps, happiness, or some small triumph.  Delphine sighed in relief.  Two pigeons later and she had had the means and directions to attach a small device to the interior of her radio set, along with a tiny roll of heavily waxed paper, bearing slots similar to an old-fashioned player piano roll.  She could hear the little device whirring and clicking faintly from within the radio case.

“Oui, Dove, I am here, although it was a bit more _challenging_ than usual to tune you in.  Is this small machine doing what I think it is doing?”

“If you think it’s rotating your signal amongst a series of frequencies that corresponds with a series of frequencies that I’m broadcasting on, then you’re correct,” the Dove replied, notes of sass and pride in her voice.  Delphine felt her mouth move from a surprised O into an actual grin, an expression that had been in pathetically short supply.  “Did you have to restart several times,” the Dove asked.

“ _Incroyable_ … no, just one time, to get it synced to the minute. This is brilliant.” With their communications fluttering between various frequencies, Delphine realized it would be almost impossible for anyone trying to catch their conversation on the airwaves.  She was not safe, but she felt her shoulders drop slightly down from the clenched position they were usually in during trasnmissions.

“Why thank you, Swan,” the American woman’s voice came back, sounding very pleased with herself, indeed.  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get this through command for a long time.  Well, me and Hedy.  But sometimes they sure are a stubborn bunch of bastards…”

“Hedy?” Delphine inquired.  She felt lost. “As in… Lamarr, the film actress?”

“Oh, yeah.  Great lady.  Whip-smart.  But loose lips sink ships, Delphine, so don’t spread it around.”

Delphine froze.  She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.  Her silence stretched.

“Oh,” came the voice at the other end after a moment, sounding deflated. “Oh, shit.  And here I am breaking the same rule, again.  I’m really sorry… it’s just, I looked at your file and, well I felt like I got to know you a little bit, uh… Swan.  So… wow, I… used your name.  That was stupid.  But don’t worry!  Like I told you, this frequency hopping is totally foolproof.”

Delphine didn’t know what to feel.  She was horrified, frightened for an instant, as if a group of SS thugs might burst through her door at that moment. But underneath that, a warmth began to trickle.  She didn’t know why, as this woman clearly was not being careful about what she said, but she felt like someone who had mailed her such an ingenious security device via pigeon was perhaps just brilliant enough to trust.  Also, she found herself actually feeling _amused_.  There was just something… endearing about this Dove person.

“Aha, okay, ‘Dove,’” Delphine said aloud, “I take it that name has something to do with the pigeons, then?”

“Right, you guessed it.  I started out as a biologist and then I was working with the carrier pigeon and dog corps and then I got a little into coding, and… oh, uh.  But I’m going on, again.  So, yeah, pigeons.  That and the dove as the symbol of peace, because we could all use a bit of that right about now, couldn’t we?”

Delphine nodded, despite the women not being able to see one another.  This had struck a chord.

“Mm, yes, Dove, I concur,” she answered, then actually felt her lips twisting in something of a smirk.  “But if you know my files and have used my name, it’s only fair that I learn yours.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line that built to a chuckle.  “Cosima,” came the reply.  She pronounced it differently than the usual Italian, emphasizing the second syllable like SEE, instead.  It must have been an American thing.

“Co-si-ma,” Delphine repeated, feeling something like a flicker of hope somewhere deep inside her.  “Enchantée.”

“Enchantée,” Cosima answered, and Delphine could tell she was smiling.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Cosima had been spending more and more time by the radio set.  When she was scheduled to work on a project, she was efficient, attentive, but she rarely stayed long after, even if the meeting was with Prof. Turing.  On top of his many other duties, he was working on a proposal for a secure voice system to encipher speech over the telephone, and they’d shared ideas, but half of what they came up with seemed to take too much time, or be denied resources or approval from the military, as her wireless device had.  Cosima understood that the major focus right now was on the amassing of troops on the English Channel, but she was growing increasingly frustrated with feeling like she’d been isolated, sitting on her hands, while the Big Boys loaded their guns.  Didn’t they understand that information was just as vital as brute force in the war effort?  Apparently not, especially when they were scrambling just to have enough boats to get the troops to France.

It was a slow evening after Scott had brought her tea (she still sniggered every time they referred to cookies as “biscuits”) and she was venting, dissecting the weaknesses in the Allies’ plans again.

“So then I said, ‘I’ve got no beef with Patton heading the operation, but if you think the Germans are gonna buy those lousy excuses for dummy tanks, you must be sauced.  Now if we use inflatables…’”

A high-pitched beep bleated from the radio set.  Cosima flung herself forward, slamming the legs of the chair she’d been leaning back in to the ground, and grabbed the controls and headphones.

“17,” she said quickly into the microphone.

“17, this is the Swan. Confirmation, please,” came the voice from the other end, with some choppy drop-outs and a few hisses of static.

“Hey, there.  Hold on a sec, Swan, let me calibrate.”  She adjusted the device attached to her radio set, and the static lessened.  “OK, Swan, this is Dove.  Turkish tobacco, you know the drill.  Confirmed.  How ya doin’, Delphine?”

There was a little noise across the airwaves that could have been an exhalation of nervous laughter.

“I am alright, Cosima, thank you.  I’m sorry to contact you outside our allotted schedule.”

Cosima waved her hands at the radio dismissively.  “Now, cut that out, don’t apologize.  Is everything okay?”

“I made contact with Agent Sabine.  Preparations are going ahead, but the Gestapo has been very active.  I suggest the friendlies be split up to avoid notice.”

Cosima furrowed her brow.

“Well, yeah, sure, okay,” she responded, “but why didn’t you suggest that to Sabine?” A teasing grin spread across her face.  “Or is it you just couldn’t wait to hear my voice, Swannie?”

There was a brief pause and a huff on the other end.

“Well, I did suggest it to Sabine, but she denied it.   _That_ is the reason I called, not because your voice is as irresistible as you seem to think it might be.”  Her tone betrayed her small, teasing smile.

Cosima straightened her glasses and briefly drummed her fingers on the table.  

“Maybe Sabine didn’t get the message.  That was sent via another contact.” She scratched her head.  “I’ll have them send an order, although getting through to her has been touch-and-go.  That’s what happens when you rely on your _average_ portable wireless.”

Delphine rolled her eyes at her radio.

“Not like the ones you work with, of course,” she responded.

“Yeah, not like — hey, wait a minute, Delphine.  Don’t start thinking I’ve got a swelled head.  Everything I’ve worked out is scientific and tested on my own time.  I’m just trying to help, here.  I don’t know why they keep shooting me down, except that I’m not military and sometimes I wear a skirt.”

“Oh, so not military, then.  You are with American intelligence?”

Something like a snort or chuckle came over the line to Delphine.

“Baby, I _am_ American intelligence,” Cosima answered, in a tone that was too over-the-top to really be slick. She snickered at her own joke. “But seriously, I’m sort of OSS but I also work with the British.  Let’s just say the military realized I had special talents and I was able to negotiate my own sort of… freelance status.”

Delphine was impressed.  She’d never heard of such a thing before, although there were more and more female civilians being quickly trained and deployed as agents.  Big things were afoot, and the Allies needed all the communication lines they could get.  Still, it sounded like Cosima’s position was unusually free and high-ranking.

“So, you are my Special Agent, who used science and fast talk to get herself certain privileges.  Tell me, why are you assigned to me?  Surely there must be more important contacts.”

_My Special Agent._  Cosima was glad, for once, that they couldn’t see each other, as her cheeks tinted.

“Well, now, Swan, you’re very important.  First off, you’re one of the only agents in the field with your own voice communications systems, and Morse code is _boring_.”

Delphine gave a little snort of her own at that, her hand moving to her lips.

“Secondly, you’re uh, associated with von Leekie, who is a guy we sure do need monitored to keep up with security and movements in Paris.”

_Associated_ , Delphine thought, _that’s a fine way of putting it._

“Also, you’ve done really great work, so far, especially considering you’ve been mostly on your own.  I mean, everything you’ve done… has been smart, and _brave_.”  Cosima cleared her throat, and her tone softened.  

“I dunno, Delphine, I guess I got a feeling about you, and figured you could use the help.”

Delphine let out a breath.  Somehow, Cosima’s voice just reassured her, made her feel as though she was really being looked after.  She hadn’t even felt like that with Deercatcher, despite how familiar his timbre had become.  She steepled her fingers against her forehead.

“That’s… thank you, Dove, Cosima,” she acknowledged softly into her microphone.  “It’s good to know I have a… friend, out there.”  Her lips briefly trembled.  She had felt so alone.

“That’s… my pleasure, Delphine,” Cosima replied.  “Now, why don’t you tell me if you have thoughts on how to split the friendlies, and tell me what von Leekie’s thinking about Pas de Calais.”

* * *

 

They ended up talking longer than necessary, possibly longer than was wise.

But after Delphine told Cosima about the two underground way stations on the outskirts of the city, and confirmed that she had merely been reinforcing to von Leekie the idea of what Germans were already expecting — that any invasion would come from where the English Channel was the narrowest — she found herself silent, worn, knowing she should sign off, but realizing she was clinging even to the static on the line, the knowledge that someone was listening, someone kind.

And Cosima seemed to sense that.  “What would you have been doing before the war, at this time of night?” she asked, and memories started seeping in through Delphine’s defenses.  Somehow they were quiet memories, though, not the ones that came from the Germans’ invasion.

“Probably reading,” she sighed, then felt a faint smile come to her lips.   _Reading for pleasure, for education,_ she thought, _when was the last time I did it?_

“Ah, a fellow bookworm,” Cosima acknowledged, a smile in her voice, as well.  “And what would you be reading?”

“Eum, either medical or science texts, for my degree or out of interest,” Delphine remembered. “Sometimes prose, poetry. I think most recently I was reading excerpts from Jenny d’Hericourt.”

“Jenny d’Hericourt?  Who’s she?”

Delphine suddenly felt herself brighten.  This was a topic close to heart, one she thought a woman like Cosima might enjoy.  She exhaled a little _pfffff,_ considering how to explain it.

“She was a fascinating person, who did so many things.  She was a teacher and ran a girls’ school.  She wrote a book. She was a suffragist and supporter of women’s and worker’s rights in the last century.  She took part in the revolution of 1848 and forced discussion of women’s rights into the socialist committee, and later wrote a treatise deconstructing women’s roles in the Bible and the concept of women as subordinate to men being God’s will.  Later on, she even studied homeopathic medicine and worked as a midwife in Paris and America.  She is not well known, but oh, when I read about her…”

“Wow,” Cosima reacted, after a moment. “I can almost hear you going all starry-eyed about her.  I would love to know more about her.   She sounds like my kind of woman,” she chuckled.

“Oh, you would love her.  If you were here, I would certainly lend you the books that I have,” Delphine responded, then bit her lip.  She had let her words get ahead of her.  She wasn’t a free person in a free land, anymore, and she would probably never meet the woman on her radio set in person.

“Hey,” Cosima said softly, as if she had read her mind, “maybe someday we’ll meet, and I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and a warm wash of possibility, however unlikely, flowed over Delphine. _Maybe someday…_ she thought, her mind not even fully forming the words, _when we both have made it, after the war._

They sat in contemplative silence until Cosima finally cleared her throat.

“So, tell me, O burgeoning lady doctor and reader of feminist tracts, how we’ll go about pushing for the ladies in France to finally get the vote, after we kick the Germans’ butts out of your country?”

And, for the first time in a while, Delphine felt something more than resolve in getting through the pain, disgust and fear of each day.  She felt motivation for the future.  She felt _passion._


	4. Chapter 4

That wasn’t the last time they talked into the night.

Delphine tried to limit their communications, but she was so tired, and so lonely.  Something in the American’s voice resonated with her, comforted her.  Not only had this woman, like Delphine, surmounted some daunting odds to get to her position, but she had done one thing no other person had been able to do for her since the invasion of her country.  She made her feel, however briefly, cared for, almost safe.

Delphine would trail off into silence, going over her missions in her mind, evaluating von Leekie’s recent behavior, and Cosima would reach out with calming words, with friendly interest, coming up with things like “hey, did I ever tell you about the time I learned mah-jonng in Chinatown?” Then she’d launch into ridiculous stories that made Delphine laugh even as the back of her mind turned over ways she could get caught and punished.  

She’d also prompt her gently, asking her questions.  Before Delphine knew it, she’d outlined her childhood. She’d been privileged, the only daughter of a well-to-do couple.  She remembered catching frogs behind the country house, sneaking her father’s science books into her room until she was found out, and her unusually progressive parents told her they would help her achieve any level of education she wished.  She’d been gawky, too-tall as she entered her teenage years, lost her heart for jumping competition when her favourite horse died, and was prone to startling adults at her parents’ parties with her intelligent, mature, yet unfailingly polite additions to their conversations.

Then she had grown to be considered attractive, to fill out, and found it was often best to find excuses to avoid the older men at parties.  She hung around with a few friends, mostly superficial except for her cousin, Laurent, who had a daring playfulness that could convince her to join him in escapades, pranks, and assorted good-natured naughtiness.  

She’d made it into university, studying science, disarming the boys and men with her grace, her few, well-chosen words, her determination, and her willingness to assist them with her brilliance, and then started on her doctorate.  She had had few boyfriends, being entranced by her studies and considered somewhat odd, but there was one, a handsome, serious boy named Renaud, who was also studying medicine.  They became engaged, but when his father died, his family begged him to join them and move away from France before the Germans advanced too far.  He pleaded with her to join him, but she felt she couldn’t abandon her parents.  Last she heard of him, he had booked passage on a ship headed for Canada.  She didn’t know if he had made it on board, much less across the ocean.

But that felt so long ago.

Her parents had been taken by the Germans, she didn’t know exactly why.  Rumours said they may have resisted.  She grieved, and then she decided she had to do something, whatever it took, to help the resistance and the Allies.  Getting into the elite social circles of the Nazis had required cunning, but she still had money, based on her family’s holdings in other countries, and she learned to use her charm and her looks.  Having her father’s wireless had been an advantage beyond her expectations, especially once she had established contact with British intelligence.

Cosima listened, rapt, encouraging, praising and prompting her.  Her story had not been so different.  Her family had a good deal less money, but also doted on their daughter and respected her intelligence.  With a thirst for knowledge and a brash, American attitude — some might call it “gumption” — Cosima had advanced far past her compatriots in her studies, mastering several disciplines and charming her way into the realm of the educated and powerful.  At the same time, she seemed more rebellious, more restless than Delphine had ever been.  Maybe it came from living in a city so young.  Time and time again she discovered new places, groups and cultures, and somehow made friends, or at least people who saw it advantageous to barter with her.  She was confident in her intellect and her ability, but even more than that, she knew how to make herself valuable, even necessary.  

More than once in sharing her stories about growing up in San Francisco and projecting herself into a convoluted web of government, educational and private interests to help with the war effort, Cosima reminded Delphine of Laurent.  She was adventurous, excited by learning and fond of people, despite all the evil in the world.  She, also, hadn’t much to say about romance and dating — perhaps she was a little too odd, a little too footloose, it seemed, although not a prude.  But perhaps one didn’t have to settle on one person when had so much love for and interest in humanity, and when one had such a romance with knowledge.

Sometimes Delphine would pause, brushing her hair or choosing something to wear for another unwanted social obligation with von Leekie, and find herself thinking about the American woman.  When would they next talk?  What would she say to Delphine in her honey voice, broken into bright staccato rhythms full of sly wit and enthusiasm?  Would they talk of science, logistics, or would Cosima prompt her memories of ambling through the spring wildflowers in Chamonix, the snowy crags of the mountains rising so close?  Would Cosima bring her to think of sitting in a darkened theatre watching a favourite film, then counter it with a funny tale about getting caught sneaking into the cinema with her friend Felix? Would they meet, sometime, in a better place, her eyes finally taking in what Cosima described as a short, small body, a dark, waving “kind of pompadour with a bun,” and heavy glasses?  Would they feel at home with each other in the flesh as she did during their conversations?  Would Cosima accept all Delphine had to do, to compromise, to get through the war and fight the Germans?  

_Don’t get ahead of yourself,_ Delphine would interrupt her own daydreaming, _remember your duties, be vigilant.  Don’t get lured into false hope._

But if her wits, her watchfulness and her many masks were working to help her survive, what was it that she felt creeping into her soul that had begun to make her feel, just a little bit, _alive?_  
  


* * *

 

Von Leekie paced in the communications room, eyes occasionally darting up to take in intelligence reports, and symbols on maps. Against one wall, radio operators were fielding and relaying messages in strict code, but also scanning for any foreign broadcasts.  He knew that the Allies were massing across the channel, everyone did.  He also knew that they employed everything from their own coded transmissions to secret messages hidden in regular radio programming.  But, while von Leekie had a keen eye and ear for codes himself, he knew the German intelligence was missing transmissions, and able to crack and translate even less, while the Allies seemed to be reaching deeper and deeper into the Nazi military secrets, despite constant modifications to the Enigma coding machines.  He balled his fists, his usual affable façade stripped to taut frustration and anger, the movement in his sharp cheeks betraying the clenching of his jaw.  The Abwehr often seemed so incompetent and belligerent towards the SS intelligence that he sometimes wondered if they were really all on the same side.  That was why he had his own specialists to listen and analyze, and his own officers and enforcers to gather information the old-fashioned way: by taking people in, and making them talk.

The wireless specialist turned his head toward him.  

“Öberführer,” he reported, “no further activity on the frequencies we previously scanned.  Known broadcasts are being intercepted, but the anomalies seemed to have stopped.  All we are getting is broken chatter.”

Von Leekie stared at the young man for a moment, making him squirm, making him wonder if his superior’s wrath would be taken out on him.

Von Leekie turned and called for his adjutant instead.

“Fromm,” he snapped, and his assistant stepped quickly to him.  “Bring me Haptsturmführer Faustrecht and Die Klinge.  It’s time we used a more hands-on approach.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody. Thanks for reading! Just a reminder that I love getting comments and reviews, and they really help motivate me to keep writing. Thanks, and back to our story.

Everything was going to hell.

Delphine held up her hand to stop the American soldiers from exiting the alley.  They complied instantly, silently, the leader’s hands hovering over the lapel of his plain, civilian jacket, close to his shoulder holster.  The view down the street made Delphine’s stomach flip, a wave of nausea hitting her along with a chill of near-panic.

Agent Sabine was being arrested by the Gestapo.

Not fifteen minutes before, Delphine had caught the agent’s eye as she strolled past the point of rendezvous. Now the woman was being slammed into the side of a police vehicle, her arms jerked behind her to be thrust into handcuffs.

Delphine had known things weren’t right, but she’d been unable to contact Sabine to alter their mission, and she’d had to go through with the original plan at the given time.  Now she was responsible for this small group of men, a couple of agents, a pilot and a paratrooper who had been caught behind enemy lines.  She had to get them to the next way station on their way out of France.  But now they weren’t going anywhere but backward.

The Germans were spreading out, quickly.  She and these good men could all get captured.  They could all get tortured, or killed.

The group quietly backpedalled at her hand signal, and re-entered the basement of the abattoir, the rich smell of blood only heightening their nervousness. One man bumped into a pig carcass, causing it to sway, the hinge on the ceiling hook briefly squealing.  They all froze for a moment, then breathed out as no noises from the outside drew nearer.

Delphine felt her way in the near-blackness to the inner door.  She tapped on it quickly, once, then twice again.

The butcher’s face was flushed, sweaty when he poked his head through the door to see her.  His gaze moved beyond her to see the fugitives huddling in the shadows.

“Non…” he whispered, eyes widening, “they can’t be here, again…”

Delphine quickly put one finger to the butcher’s lips, shushing him quietly, then moving her hand to hold his face, focusing his eyes on hers.  They didn’t have time to argue.  For a beat, even she didn’t know what was to come out of her mouth next.  A thought came from nowhere.

“Monsieur Boucher, have you any wooden boards?  We’ll need access to your upper windows.”  She forced her voice to remain calm, in-control, as if she knew what she was doing.  As he stared at her, gears turning, she wasn’t sure she had succeeded.

Finally, he gave a quick nod.  Within moments, the group of men had climbed through the window and crawled on the boards above the alley into the warehouse next door, from which she hoped her hastily-drawn map would get them to a resistance contact further into town.  She hoped they continued to have the sense and luck that had gotten them thus far.

When the Gestapo men stopped by the butcher’s shop, Delphine, makeup wiped off, covered in the butcher’s daughter’s rough coat and headscarf, pretended to be a woman trying to exchange her gold earrings for some scraps of meat.  They questioned her briefly, eyes suspicious, and threatened to take her in, but after endless seconds where she, heart pounding, tried to steel herself for the worst, the senior one seemed to decide they hadn’t the time.  Delphine thanked God that they were of lower-rank and not that bright when they decided to release her with the simple theft of the earrings.  They hadn’t recognized her, and they must have been in a rush, to leave a pretty girl unscathed.  

On her way back to the meeting point with her driver, Delphine stopped in another alleyway and vomited violently.  Her hand shook as she used the cuff of the coat sleeve to wipe her mouth.  She tasted bile, and also blood.  She hadn’t even realized how hard she had bitten into her tongue.

* * *

 

“What do I do?”

The words, terrified, pleading, froze Cosima to the core.

_Think,_ she pushed herself.  If Sabine had been taken, it didn’t mean Delphine had been compromised. _But what if it did?_ She clenched her hand around the edge of the desk before her, knuckles white.

“Okay, Delphine.  Do you have evac routes?”

A shuddering breath came over the airwaves.  “I… I have some papers, some possibilities.  But the security is tightening.  People are being stopped at every corner…”

_They know we’re coming,_ Cosima thought, _they’re cleaning house._ She smacked her hand down on the desk.

“Dammit, we’re so close, Delphine.  Just a few days, given the weather…”

“And there will be a battle, miles away,” Delphine reminded her, “and who knows if and when the forces reach Paris…”

“But they _will,_ ” Cosima insisted, trying to reassure the both of them.  “If I could just… if we could just protect you, if you could stay underground until—“

“I know, Cosima.  I will try. And I know there’s so much more yet to be done.”

“Not by you, Delphine,” Cosima insisted, her voice harsher than she intended, “we’ve got to get you out.”

A car door slammed on the street outside Delphine’s window.  She turned her head and saw a black car, and a truck.  Her breath caught in her throat.  The men hanging off the truck were Gestapo, but the officers exiting the car, straightening their uniforms, were SS.

“I haven’t much time,” she whispered quickly into the microphone.  “I— I can’t bring the wireless.”

“Delphine, no… but… can you take the device?  Save it for later…?”

“I’ll have to destroy it,” Delphine resolved, closing her eyes.  “I can’t let it be taken. Cosima—“

“What about— God, Delphine, just get out of there.  I can’t let… _you_ be taken, just…”

She heard voices downstairs.  The building attendant’s in the lobby, reaching the street through the open front door, brusque answers from men with German accents.

“ _Au revoir,_ Cosima,” she forced her mouth to utter.  “You… thank you.” She struggled to breathe, to hold in her tears and panic.  “Until after the war…” she offered, knowing it was both too much and too little.

“Delphine—!”

She yanked the cord from the wireless, pulling at the bolts on the casing, twisting with trembling fingers.  She struggled, until the side panel flew off, and she reached in, grabbing the mechanical frequency changer and crumpling the tiny roll of paper as she pulled the whole thing out, wires dangling.  The voices seemed below her, perhaps the second floor.  She looked around, frantic, then flung the device to the floor, stomping it with her heels.  Tiny parts cracked, screws scattered.  She grabbed all she could find.  Some went down the kitchen drain, some the bath tub, some flew out the rear window, so small as to barely ping when they hit the ground.  The waxed paper she chewed, and swallowed.   It was a part of her now.

Perhaps they were interested in other people in the building, because it took it longer than she expected for them to reach her door.  By then she had pulled on her smart suit, smoothed her hair, and sat with a cigarette, face composed.  When they knocked and asked for her she opened the door.  She fought the tension in her body and met them with an expression of mild surprise and an attitude of lack of concern, and invited them in.  There were terse questions, which she met with nonchalance and offers of brandy.  But she knew her efforts were fruitless.  In no time, they had entered the little room where her father’s wireless was kept.  

“A souvenir,” she told them “I listen to the German broadcasts.”  The Scharführer looked at her, calmly pulled off a glove, and felt the side of the now-closed wireless.  

“Still warm,” he told her, then turned to a soldier. “Search for microphones, headsets, papers, anything out of the ordinary.  Anything.”  He turned back to Delphine and gestured at her, two soldiers taking her arms on either side firmly, and said, almost politely, “Now, Fraulein Cormier, you are to come with us.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews, friends! I love reading them. :)

Cosima was screaming.  

“Dammit!  Shit, _dammit,”_ she yelled, flinging her cup to shatter against the wall and standing so abruptly that her chair slammed to the ground.

Scott’s head immediately poked through the door.

“Cosima?”

“They’re coming for her,” she turned to tell him, hands in her hair, voice rough and thick.  “They’re coming for her, and her set’s turned off, and I…”

Tears sprung to her lashes.  Her lips trembled in an open silence of shock.

Scott crossed the room in a heartbeat, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Cosima, what can we do?  What can I do for you?”

Her eyes roamed the room wildly for a moment before his look of concern drew her in, and she met his gaze.

“We have to find her,” she told him.  “I have to get her out of there.”

Scott nodded.  “We can tell the SIS…”

“ _You_ can tell them,” she cut him off, “you see to that, I trust _you_ with the message.  But I’ve got to get out there…”

Scott’s eyes widened.  He examined his supervisor’s, his _friend’s_ face, and he straightened, his jaw firming.

“Whatever it is you intend to do, Cosima,” he told her, “ I support you, and don’t fight me, because  I’m going with you.”

* * *

 

Scott tried to pretend there wasn’t bile welling at the back of his throat.

He had been in airplanes before, sure, and he had trained for emergency situations, but he was still serving mainly based on his brain power, not a hardy constitution or physical prowess.  Cosima must be having it worse.  Her training had been even more rudimentary than his.  Then again, Cosima was much better at just throwing herself into things and winging it…

_Throw herself… wing it…_ his mind repeated to him, and he closed his eyes and swallowed, the ghost of nervous laughter briefly agitating his stomach.  He opened his eyes and looked down at her, so small laden with all those packs and kits.  At first glance, she didn’t seem capable of what they were about to do , but when she came at the authorities with her fast talk and determination, then literally picked Scott up on her back and carried him around them, it was clear she was going to get her way.  It didn’t hurt her case that one of the pathfinder soldiers had suddenly come down with something that looked suspiciously like food poisoning (“nothing serious, he’ll be fine,” Cosima reassured Scott, sotto voce, as he wished momentarily for short-term amnesia,) and it was patently clear that she had more than enough knowledge of transmitters for the job.  Of course, there was an officer who owed her something, who believed in her, who listened to her rant about how many female civilian spies had been deployed and realized that to deny her could possibly lead to her instigating all sorts of trouble.    So, they weren’t stowaways, exactly.  But that didn’t mean that this was all on the up-and-up, nor that it wasn’t one of the worst ideas of all time.

Scott looked down the lines of men on both benches.  In the semi-dark, with their faces smeared with camouflage paint, their eyes shone through, a little wider with adrenaline, a little wearier with waiting.  They were mostly silent.  One near the end joked a bit with two others, and another two had actually brought out a deck of cards from somewhere, and were playing something basic with more concentration than it required.  The benches shook and dipped a little, but nobody but Scott seemed to notice.

The lieutenant stood in the doorway of the cockpit, consulting with the pilot.  Scott couldn’t hear or see much of them, and the glimpses out the window showed only darkness.   _It’s gotta be almost two hours,_ Scott told himself, his inner voice with rising tension almost as much as he was sure his real voice would if he had spoken.

There was a sudden rumble, and the C-47 shook again with turbulence, this time harder.  Scott’s and Cosima’s eyes met.  Hers were also wide, and he could see the determined flare of her nostrils as she controlled her breath.  The trooper next to her gave her a sideways glance, teeth clamped on his lit cigar.  He gave a short shake of his head, but said nothing, and only looked back toward the nose of the plane again.

“Alright, men, a little change of plans, here,” the lieutenant yelled over the engine noise, turning around to face them.  “We’ve got some low cloud cover, and are changing altitude for visibility.”

There was another lurch and the slight sensation of acceleration and rising.  Fragments of curses came from the cockpit and the officer stuck his head back in to check in again.  After a few moments, he turned back to address his men. _And his woman,_ Scott thought.

“Okay, listen up.  We’ve got no visual on our other planes or the ground, due to the cloud cover.  We’re gonna circle to find our drop location and—“

There was a loud, whirring crack and a whoosh as small hole was punched in the side of the plane, metal flying, and the percussive sounds of bullets hitting the wing rang out.  Flashes of light illuminated the hole, and the men grabbed quick hand-holds as the plane took a steep bank.  

“We’ve got flak incoming, and tracers,” the pilot yelled, and this time Scott heard him.

The lieutenant braced himself in the doorway.  

“Alright, keep it together, guys, you’ve trained for this,” he yelled over the noise of another bang near the tail of the plane, shards of hot metal shrapnel briefly illuminating the shadows and a fragment lodging into the wall scant inches from the last private on the line.  “Drop positions!”

Scott’s whole body flashed cold, and his own heartbeat seemed to shake him.  The door in the side of the plane was open, wind roaring, and flashes of light went by in the darkness.  The trooper with the cigar was leaning out the doorway, peering, the lieutenant now beside him, yelling commands Scott couldn’t quite process.  He realized they were all standing, and Cosima’s hand flashed up, arm straining, as she hooked her chute pull to the cable line.  She glanced back over her shoulder at him, then at his arm, and his hand shot up, attaching his chute to the line, as well.  Her eyes met his, and she turned toward the door.

The lieutenant was yelling.  The trooper at the door tucked and disappeared, and before Scott knew it, Cosima was hustling forward. Scott felt a push at his back and followed her, as she seemed to take a breath in slow motion, and then rolled out the door into… he couldn’t even think about it.  He was at the door himself, chest tightening, legs pumping to keep himself from rearing backwards, and he was out, wind rushing up at him, noise, the sudden tug of the harness as his chute opened, forcing out his breath.  

The night was dark, but all around and below him tracers bloomed like flaming chandeliers, streaks of blazing light in fanning paths, deadly fireworks everywhere.  He could see the silhouettes of parachutes below and ahead of him. _The closest must be Cosima,_ he thought, trying to keep it in sight, but there was a fluttering sound and a ripple of air beside him as something, someone went plunging down, chute tangled, twisted, body out of his sight almost before he could register it, although he was sure it was branded somewhere behind his retinas, behind conscious thought.   _I hope he’s already dead,_ his mind groaned at him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.  There was nothing he could do, now.  Nothing to speed or slow, change or direct his descent, avoid bullets or landing in water, against rock, drowning or breaking his neck.

_Cosima,_ he reminded himself.   _You promised to help her._ And his eyes opened with the whine of gunfire close, too close to his ears, and the ground welling up beneath him, strobing in the scattered flashes.  He saw rough textures and smears, not trees, but some kind of grass and scrub, hard to tell.  He realized his body was tight, too tight as the world beneath his feet rushed and reared faster up at him, so he let his knees bend, go lax, and took a hard breath.  That breath was pushed out of him as his feet made contact, firmly, but softer than he expected, and he remembered to fall to the side, rolling contact up from his ankles to his calves, up his now-tucked legs and torso, arms pulled in, neck bent.  For a moment he felt more still than he ever had in his life, nothing but the expansion of his chest sucking in air moving.  And then he registered the wet muck rising to cover his eye, his hips sinking, muddy water slopping into his mouth.  

He flailed and struggled, realizing the ground was enfolding him, his left side heavy and sticky with mud as the straps of his harness and belts dug into him, the weight of his heavy equipment nearly pinning him down.  His arms spread like wings, grasping to find purchase, fingers sinking too far and then, thank God, hitting a solid layer a few inches below the watery surface. _A swamp, or a marsh,_ he acknowledged, and then coiled, gathering his strength, and pushed himself up into a sitting position.  

The tracer fire was streaking lights up above him now, but the area just around him seemed quiet.  For a moment he saw the spread of another parachute high above him, and then it jerked and bloomed into flame from the touch of a tracer bullet.  There was a scream and splash/thump, but nothing after that.  Scott didn’t know how far away it was, and he knew he didn’t have time to find out.  He reached for the release for his parachute.

By the time he was standing he was running.  Jogging, rather, weighed down by his packs and the mud that stuck to him and sucked at his boots like a natural death trap.  There was a blacker shade of darkness, a small copse of trees at his ten o’clock, and he made for it, squelching and wheezing, for what seemed way too long.  But no bullets or bodies emerged from the spaces around him, and he made it to the cover, ducking in and behind the trunk of a good-sized willow that had seen better days, half of its branches reaching bare and dead into the sky.  

He leaned, then, shoulder to the bark and pulling in oxygen, boots on more solid ground, then scrabbled for his flashlight, his map and compass.  He fumbled for a minute, then thought twice about his flashlight, grabbing his Zippo instead.  He stopped a moment, thinking, _is it too risky to flash a light at all?  But I’ve got to check my position,_ then tried to wrap his body around the lighter to shield it from sight, the other side blocked by the tree trunk.  He grabbed a quick read, and wished he could see the stars.  It was going to take some calculations and either a change in the weather or sunrise to get his bearings, and a bunch of Jerries could come by from any direction.   _Maybe they’ll avoid the mud,_ he tried to reassure himself, and then thought, _stupid._

Then there was a sound from the darkness.  A familiar sound of a metal _click._ It wasn’t the sound of a handgun cocking or the _clack_ of a rifle bolt, but the flick of a brass or steel “cricket” signal clicker, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief.  He pulled out his own cricket and pressed it with his thumb, clicking twice back.

“Scott?” came a harsh whisper, straight ahead.

He crept forward as quickly as he could without bumping into anything or tripping.

“Cosima?”

“Yeah,” came the answer, still ahead, but strangely… above him?

There was the quick flicker of a Zippo cupped in a hand, and Scott looked up.  Cosima was hanging by her parachute lines from a tree limb, about ten feet off the ground, swaying lightly.  He caught the glint of metal on dirt before him and looked down.  It was a standard-issue trench knife, clearly dropped from above, blade point-down and half in the earth.  Cosima sighed above him.

“A little help, here?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Thank you for your support!

_I must have been here a hundred times,_ Delphine thought, looking around von Leekie’s office.   _Perhaps this one will be little different from the rest,_ she tried to reassure herself.   _Perhaps all they have on me is a rumour and a warm radio._

But there had never been an armed guard inside the room with her, his eyes on her from the doorway, his finger close to the trigger of his gun.

She had been left waiting there for some time, and even the well-cushioned leather guest chair was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  She had asked to go to the bathroom a while ago, but the guard merely stared at her, saying nothing, until she sat back down.

So, she gazed out the window, trying to control her breathing.  A pigeon fluttered by at one point, and she wished she could go back to that first surprise visit from Cosima’s pigeon — or better, have some way to contact her.

She heard the door open behind her, but before she could rise, von Leekie was striding past her to round his desk, carefully laying down a sheaf of papers on his blotter before he even glanced at her, then seating himself in his chair, his fingers steepled before him, to look at her appraisingly.  He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke he sounded slightly pained or annoyed, as if she had been a great inconvenience.

“Delphine,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “you never told me how much you enjoy listening to the radio.”

Delphine worked not to nervously bite her lip.

“I have always enjoyed it, Aldous,” she answered, putting a hint of the familiar huskiness she often used to convince him of his attractiveness into his given name.  “You know I love music, and I grew up in a household with an excellent wireless.  It reminds me of my girlhood.”

“Hmm,” von Leekie pondered, pursing his lips.  “Tell me, does it remind you, also, of your parents?  The ones who colluded against the Third Reich, against your very own government and police here in France?”

He knew this would hurt her, would scare her and pierce her shell.  She tried, but she wasn’t sure she entirely kept the tremble out of her voice.

“I have never been told the crimes they committed,” she replied, “but I trust they were serious.  I’ve never questioned the government’s absolute right to take them… and as for my childhood, that was a long time ago.”

She met his eyes now, willing herself to stare, unwavering, through his cynicism.

“Really, Aldous, all this fuss over a little hobby of listening to news and music?”

Von Leekie paused for a moment, just staring at her, then licked his pointer finger and thumb and riffled his papers, finally pulling out one and tracing the rows of sentences with his finger.

“Well, that might be one thing, but then you have this other ‘little hobby’ of aiding enemy soldiers.”  He looked up at her almost mildly, with just a hint of expectation as he let that soak in.

Delphine tried her best to look shocked, wrongfully accused.

“What?  Aiding enemy soldiers? What—“

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about, _darling,_ ” he interrupted her, stretching out the endearment into a parody.  “Just as you know an agent who goes by the name Sabine.”

Delphine felt her stomach drop, and her lungs freeze mid-breath.  She started to open her mouth.

“Don’t,” von Leekie stopped her, leaning back in his chair.  “We know everything about you and what you’ve done ‘ _Swan_.’ Such a pretty name for a Resistance whore.”

Delphine made a great effort to level her voice.

“I _don’t_ know what you’re talking about, Aldous, but if any Resistance spy has been talking about me, it’s probably made up tales to save their own skin.”  Her mouth twisted.  “And you well know, if I’m anyone’s whore, it’s yours.”

Her voice had become more biting than she intended, but she swore she saw a brief flicker of desire in his eyes, a response to the sort of talk he’d always most enjoyed from her.  But then that window closed.

“Really, Delphine, don’t embarrass yourself,” he countered, his words clipped.  “You have already done enough to embarrass _me_.”  His last words rang with suppressed rage, and she realized that was her true crime.  Never insult the Öberführer’s pride.

“Besides,” he continued, “Agent Sabine has been working with us for some time now, so anything she told us about you would hardly require a forced confession.”

That was it, then.  She had been stupid, not careful enough.  So _stupid_.  

She had nothing left to say.  They merely glared at each other over his desk for a moment.

“Now,” he finally resumed, riffling his papers and then steepling his fingers again, “I really think you should do yourself a favour and tell me everything I want to know.  Shall we begin?”

Delphine said nothing, forcing her face to remain stoic, her back straight.

“No? Hm.  I know you have some inside knowledge on how things work.  Have you ever heard of Die Klinge?”

A cold wash of fear flash-flooded through Delphine’s body.  Die Klinge… _The Blade_.  An “interrogator,”  he was called in Nazi circles, a “torturer,” a “devil” in others.  His reputation preceded him.

Delphine’s brain whirled, her face cycling through emotions she fought to control. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.  Finally, she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, turning her head to gaze out the window, to stare into the approaching line of grey, threatening clouds spreading across the sky above Paris.  

Von Leekie clucked his tongue.

“Very well, then,” he said simply, and got up. He rounded the desk and paused in front of her.  His right hand clenched into a fist, and his eyes burned with cold fire.  Delphine thought he would hit her, but he did not.  Instead, he touched one of the golden curls by her face lightly, almost tenderly.

“Such a disappointment,” he finally said, “you could have been something.”  He seemed about to say something more, but his face became hard, instead, and he walked out the door.

“Take her to Die Klinge,” she heard him say as he exited, and when the guards came to get her, she found her legs too weak to lift her weight herself.

* * *

  
  


There had been distant noises for a while, but now, nothing save the sound of the breeze and a few birds.  Cosima and Scott had found more solid ground after Cosima deduced that the Nazis must have deliberately flooded the area to make paratrooper landings unsafe, and Scott had calculated elevations and distances on their map.   The only soldiers they had seen — from the American’s units or the Germans — were dead, mostly shot or drowned, sprawled out at intervals, partially hidden by hedges or high plants in fields.  There had been evidence of movement — trodden mud, broken branches, even a burned patch or two — but they seemed to lead in all directions.  Cosima peered up at the glaring, white-grey, cloudy sky, and quietly cursed the decision to do the drop in such poor weather.  It probably had made the Germans suspect an attempted attack less, but she doubted many of the advance pathfinder paratroopers had landed in their actual drop zones.

“This should be it, Scott,” she declared, not for the first time.  “I’m ninety percent sure this the target area.”

Scott nodded, again, looking at the conspicuous absence of any of their jump mates, and took a slow, small pull of water from his canteen.  

“I know,” he responded, his voice strained from fatigue and tension.  “So, it looks like our only choice for finding our allies is to move northwest.”  His tone indicated he was trying to sound rational, convincing, supportive, but his expression proved he knew the effort was probably futile.  

Cosima shook her head.

“There’s no guarantee we’ll meet anyone but Nazis,” she countered.  Her lips compressed into a grim line, and she re-folded the map.  “Five more minutes rest, and then we’re heading towards Paris.”

Scott blew his cheeks out and stood to stretch.  

“Be right back. Gotta, you know…” he looked embarrassed until Cosima nodded.

“I know, drain the hose,” she waved him off.  If they were going to be in such dire circumstances, little moments of levity would help them get through, and making Scotty blush always amused her and distracted him.

He disappeared into the bushes and Cosima rubbed her hands over her face.  Paris was going to take days to reach, going by foot and skirting any fighting or German troops.  Once again she thought about how grateful she was to Scott for joining her — she probably couldn’t do it without him — while simultaneously fighting off guilt for involving him in this hastily put-together and life-threatening scheme.

A strangled cry and a thud from the bushes made her instantly shoot to her feet.  There was a rustling, and she fumbled to wrap one hand around the butt of her revolver.  

“Aw, _jeez_ ,” came from that direction in Scott’s voice, after what seemed far too long.  She inched forward.

“Scott?  You okay?”

She edged into the bushes and found him pushing himself up from having fallen.

“Yeah, I just tripped,” he explained, “and this… _thing_ I tripped over about scared the life out of me.”

Cosima followed his eyeline to find a small, splayed body — a kind of crude doll in human form, about three feet tall — attached to a pack and parachute that was trailing off into the weeds. She squatted on her haunches to look at it.

“It’s a British Rupert paradummy,” she concluded, scrunching her nose to push up her glasses.  “It’s supposed to throw the Jerries off by making ‘em think there are more troops coming to get them than there really are, so they pull back from the beaches to defend against them.  I don’t know why its incendiary device didn’t go off, though.  These things are supposed to burn up and not leave a trace.”

Scott paled.

“Do you think it could’ve gone off when I tripped over it?”  He was envisioning catching himself on fire.

Cosima peered up at him from over her glasses with a wry look.

“It _could_ have, but it didn’t, fortunately for you.”  She peered at it a little closer, and then stood up, looking around.

“This could mean a few things,” she mused.  “It definitely means we’re well inland, as we figured, and both some American and British drops went awry.  But it also could mean that we have to be extra careful around here.  If these dummies, plus the recordings of gunfire the few real paras dropped with them play, actually fooled anyone, there could be more Germans nearby than we hoped.”

“Great,” Scott breathed, with a little groan.  He turned his head to look all around them.  “So what do we do now?”

“Well, first we set this thing on fire,” she answered, rubbing her head with one hand, “and then we make sure we’re even more on alert and careful than we have been so far.”

She, too, let her eyes roam the brush and grasses around them.  They both started when they heard the sudden crack of gunfire in the distance, along with some indistinguishable shouts.  They looked at each other, finding themselves both crouched down out of instinct, staying below the line of the foliage.

“Shit,” Cosima exclaimed, and this time Scott was too distracted to blush. “We’d better unpack our stuff.  It’s time to get less conspicuous.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Strong trigger alert for violence in this chapter.

She must have passed out.  Delphine found herself staring at her own lap, view obscured by the dimness of the windowless storage room lit by one small single-bulb lamp overhead, and the mess around her left eye — swollen, bruised skin, and hair matted to her face and neck with drying sweat and blood.  That was the last place he had hit her, and the cut on her brow, as well as the lean line he had sliced around the back of her ear while asking her how long she thought she might live if he “removed” her “pretty face like a mask,” must have been the source of the sticky, clotting mess that spread from her hairline to her chest.  He had insisted that she would survive much longer than she might think, but considering the blood loss she had endured when he had roughly flayed one long, thin strip of flesh from the front of her shin — blood that had now formed an impressive puddle around her foot — she had hoped he might be wrong.

Raising her head was difficult, and rewarded with a pounding at her temples, particularly when the rays from the light bulb hit her bad eye.  She tested the rope binding her wrists behind her and to the wooden chair, and found it just as tight as before, a pain shooting down her right arm as her shoulder shifted and a flaring of pins and needles spreading across her hands as the numb nerves recognized the sudden return of circulation with the movement of her fingers.

At least she wasn’t hanging from her wrists, again.

Looking around, she could see not much else had changed, either.  The floor was bare, save her blood and the few remnants of her clothing, and the shelves on the walls held nothing save his black leather case, which was placed neatly at the furthest corner from her.  She wondered why he had left her in the room with his kit of implements — sharp and dull, blunt and burning — and tried to formulate a plan to tip over the chair and slither her way toward it, but she heard the muffled voices of men talking from beyond the closed door, and realized he was close by, and had not been gone for long.

A new wave of shock and fear hit her as her body screamed _Struggle! Fight! Find out a way to get out of here before he gets back,_ and her brain tried to guide her with rational thought, _how much would that effort cost you? What would be the best way to do it to avoid getting caught?  Will there be a better opportunity?_  But just as she decided she might have no other chance, the door opened, and he came in.

His face might have been handsome, had it not been devoid of any kindness.  A kind of distilled, controlled cruelty flowed off him like a waft of ozone, the cold, midnight certainty that something stared at you from the shadows of your childhood bedroom, the sudden freeze that trapped frogs and fish just under the surface of pond ice.  This and the careful way he reached into his bag and drew out just the right knife, turning and inspecting it, all spoke of why he was called “The Blade.”

“You haven’t much time, Miss Cormier,” he informed her, walking toward the chair.  “I am told we want results quickly, and, I assure you, I will do what’s necessary to procure them.”

The light from above slicked across his precisely pomaded hair and threw parts of his face into stark shadows.  He bent slowly at the waist until his breath blew faintly across her spattered face.

“Once again, what is the plan of attack?”

She stared at him, bleary, assuming the disguise of a mute, an injured doe struck by an automobile, in shock.  His tongue flicked across the edge of his upper teeth, and his brow furrowed upward as his eyebrows rose in a bored, inquiring look.  She judged that getting her to talk or being able to continue plying his craft on her might be equally satisfying to him.  He raised the knife slowly and placed the tip of it on her upper chest to one side of her sternum, just dimpling the skin with its point.

“You know, you may think I have hurt you, that the pain I’ve inflicted so far has brought you close to the edge, but I assure you, that was merely the introduction to your own personal, dark fairytale.”

Delphine felt her lungs expand with an uncontrollable gasp as the knife just pierced her flesh, blood welling up, warm, and forming a small trail toward her breast. It seemed so simple.  She thought that after the other things he had done this might feel minor, but her nerves dumbly resumed their duty and sent their message of pain just as strongly as from the first cuts and contusions.

She remained silent, though her eyes scrunched, prompting another throb from the tender swelling of her face, and she felt new sweat spring to her cheeks, temples and forehead, prompting a peculiar itch as it beaded under the dried blood painted there.

“We already know about Normandy,” he informed her, and a fresh, dizzying swirl of panic filled her mind. _What day is it?  How close is it to the landing dates?  Has it been delayed, or has it already happened?_

A small smile formed briefly at the corners of his lips, as he detected her emotions in the tiny, traitorous movements of her face, the dilation of her pupils.

“Yes,” he said.  “So now you will tell me what the next part of the plan is, remembering that I can always tell when you lie.”

The knife edge slid a millimeter deeper, and Delphine involuntarily licked her lips, her tongue once again reporting the iron tang of blood.

The door opened.

Die Klinge barely glanced over, but she turned her head to see none other than von Leekie, his eyes looking sunken and cold, his face registering mild disgust and greater disdain.

“A change of plans,” he informed them, and she detected his anger, his tension and his dismissal all in that one phrase, so well she had learned to read him.  “She will be sent to Fort de Romainville for further questioning.”

He looked at his former mistress and threw a blow at her worse than any she’d received until then.

“You may have heard of the Fort, Delphine.  It’s a prison and transfer system to the camps for pathetic, French rebels, along with other enemies of The Reich.   Oh, and also, it’s where your father was executed.”

A primal cry caught in her throat as tears sprung to her eyes.  Leekie watched her, and she thought there may have been a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.  But then it was gone.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said to Die Klinge curtly.  The two men nodded to each other and von Leekie walked out.

“Hmm, pity,” Die Klinge mused mockingly.  “I suppose I’d better have you readied for transport.  Until later, then,” he promised.  

As he rose to get the guards, he left a parting gift.  His hand flicked firmly, casually, with the knife until a ragged chunk of epidermis and muscle flew out of the insertion point near her clavicle.

This time she screamed, and she wasn’t sure if it was the knife or von Leekie’s words that caused it.


	9. Chapter 9

The question was always whether to use a road or stay away from it.  Roads obviously led somewhere and were easier to travel on at any sort of pace than bushwhacking through the terrain and foliage away from them.  They were also more likely to contain other people, and from what Cosima and Scott had seen, those people were most often German soldiers.

They had changed into simple civilian clothing and put the contents of their packs into canvas sacks slung over their shoulders, though they knew they might look suspicious to anyone who gave them more than a casual glance.  They both had rough, red patches on their hands and aches in their joints from carrying the extra weight, but it couldn’t be helped.  Going through this country without weapons, tools or rations would probably be suicide.

Much of the area had been deserted by the local residents, some clearly recently and some it seemed for a while.  Cosima supposed the Germans had been busy claiming and reinforcing the area for months, at least, due to its geographical position so close to the shore and England.  But if that hadn’t been enough, the increased activity of the occupying forces and the not-so-distant sounds of artillery fire would have sent most civilians running for the proverbial hills.

She cursed as Scott re-wrapped her foot, then instantly felt guilty, as he had been so stoic when she treated his.  The combination of the moisture, uneven ground and long hours of walking had given them peeled blisters and raw spots.  She could feel that Scott was probably wondering why they didn’t stop going on their own and double back to find the Allied forces.

_Am I completely crazy,_ she thought, then went over her original points again: that they could as easily die if they stayed with the soldiers, that alone they could use stealth and make better time, quicker decisions.  But it didn’t negate the fact that they were there, in France, in the middle of a war zone, because she was determined to find and save this one woman she’d never met.  She liked to tell herself that she was doing what was right, something a “hero” would do, but a part of her knew that her need to locate and protect this woman had gone past the point of “leave no man behind,” or explicable resolve.  There were feelings there, attachment, that she couldn’t let herself explore too finely.   _She’s my responsibility, and my friend,_ she bolstered herself, _I have to try to help her._

She looked at Scott, who was nibbling around the edges of a tiny square of emergency chocolate rations like a very innocent, very vulnerable mouse, trying not to eat too fast.  Her escapade had pulled him into extreme danger, and she had tried to dissuade him, but she knew his reasoning for staying with her was similar: she was his friend, someone he wanted to help and protect, and he wanted to do right.  She just wasn’t sure how similar his feelings for her were to hers for Delphine, and, for many reasons, she didn’t want to explore that train of thought.

She sighed at herself. _Hey, Niehaus, you’re doing the best you can,_ she soothed herself, _and you know you can’t make excuses for your heart_.

“You okay?” Scott asked her, pausing in his carefully calculated intake of calories.

“Yeah, this just…” She searched for a word to describe how harrowing their situation was, but couldn’t find one.  Scott seemed to get it, though, and patted her lightly on the knee.

There was a click from not far behind them.  It sounded very much like the cocking of a weapon.  They both stilled, frightened.

A voice came at them.

“You are not speaking French,” it informed them, in that language, in a low pitch and with an accent that was odd, and definitely even worse than Cosima’s.  They looked at each other.

“Non,” Cosima replied, not sure what to say next.

“It’s not German, either,” the voice persisted, this time with an accompanying rustle that came from low in the tall grass.

“Uh, nein,” Cosima answered, again, her eyes shifting around as if somewhere an explanatory note would emerge out of thin air to inform her what was happening and where this was going.

“American? British?” the voice inquired, and Cosima swallowed.

“Um, why do you ask?” she ventured, still in French.

“Don’t fucking fool with me, or I’ll…” there was a sharp intake of air, and a babble of completely different vowels and consonants. The gears in Cosima’s mind shifted, and the structure clicked.

“¡Es Español!” she exclaimed, in a decidedly amateur pronunciation of that tongue. “You’re speaking Spanish!”

There was a pause, and then an answer came, also in Spanish.

“Yes, very good.  But you still didn’t answer my question.”

Cosima translated the words in her mind fumblingly, and thought a moment.  She had never expected to find a Spaniard here, and it threw her off.  However, if her sources were right, there probably was a decent chance that he was a friendly.  Her eyes shifted to Scott, and she saw that he was both sweating profusely and trying to inch his hand toward his canvas sack.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” came the Spanish man’s voice again, back in rough French, and Scott froze.  Cosima made a decision.

“American,” she blurted out, “Allies.”

There was a pause, and then a welcome softening in the tone that responded to her.

“American,” he seemed to ponder, and then, “perhaps you can help me, friends?”

* * *

 

 

His name was Gaizka, and he was shot in both legs.  He had applied tourniquets, but he was still bloodied and unable to walk, one bullet having left a mess of his left knee.  They looked him over and applied what dressings they could from their first aid kits as they shared information.

He was a Basque, forbidden by the Franco regime to speak his own language, and chased from his country by the threat of death and political persecution.  He and other like-minded Spaniards had formed guerilla off-shoots of the French Resistance, stealing ammunition, gathering intelligence,and destroying rail and road routes and German-used equipment and holdings .

“They can’t get around as easily without locomotives, can they?” he shrugged, pulling on one of their government-issued cigarettes.  Unfortunately, his group had gotten caught up in a skirmish at a local village.  “I’ve been dragging myself all morning,” he told them, “except when I passed out.  My heart just wanted to… get away, maybe just to die in peace, I guess.”

Their conversation was halting, switching between French and Spanish, neither at a high level, except perhaps in the case of military terms.  He made a bargain with them.

“I need to get to some of my local friends if I’m going to survive,” he told them.  “If you’ll help me get there, I think they will be able to help you get further on your path.”

There really wasn’t much of a question.  Cosima and Scott couldn’t come up with a reason why they should suspect him of nefarious motives, and they all might be worse off without teaming up.  After all, he had acted in good faith and put away his gun.

The only problem was, moving him was going to make getting around even more difficult.

There was nothing for it, though.  After some experimentation, Gaizka ended up piggy-backed on Scott’s shoulders, grimacing with pain as Scott tried to adjust his grip around the thigh of the leg with the busted knee, while making sure his M1 Carbine with the jury-rigged-looking folding stock could be easily grabbed from its sling on his other shoulder. Cosima shouldered both the bags, stumbling briefly a little, more from their unwieldiness than their weight.

The sun had nearly set by the time they reached a small farmhouse set way back off the main road.  They stopped, both Cosima’s and Scott’s knees wobbling, and Gaizka made small sound, something like the warning call of a bird.  There was a pause, and a curtain in a rear window shifted.  Then the door opened, a middle-aged farmer emerging with an elderly shotgun in his hands.

“Alain,” Gaizka called to him, his voice tired, “I’ve been shot.  These Americans have helped me.”

The farmer evaluated the looks of the three of them, and finally nodded.

“Come on, then,” he beckoned, holding open the door.  There was a warm glow of soft light from within the house.

Cosima, aching, moved the last few feet at a shamble.  There was no deity she particularly believed in, but she found herself sending a silent, relieved thanks up towards the sky.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

They had hosed her down.  They had allowed her to dress in a simple shift.  They had given her her shoes.  But they did not treat her wounds.  She ripped strips from the bottom of the shift to bind her leg and hold against her chest and behind her ear.

She didn’t think her heart could sink further into despair, but when she saw the cattle car, it did.  They pushed her in, shutting the door, and she blinked in the darkness, trying to see who was there with her.  There was a shuffling around her, as her eyes struggled to adapt to the shadows broken only by dusty rays of late afternoon sun coming through one small ceiling vent and a few chinks between metal and wood.  She was further blinded by the sweat that instantly formed on her brow and dripped into her eyes.  The car must have been sitting in the summer sun all day, breezeless, stagnant.  The reek of urine, feces and body odour was gag-inducing.

The shapes of other women materialized around her.  Some sat, while a few seemed unable to lift themselves from prone positions, or perhaps too resigned to lift themselves from the layer of filth that covered the floor.  Eyes seemed too large in faces thinned by starvation.  A group of women, however, had approached her, and were standing around her, asking questions in low voices or whispers.

“Where are we?”  
“Are we still in France?”  
“Do you know where we’re going?”  
“Have your heard any news?”  
“Where are you from?”  
“Why did they bring you?”

She shook her head, overwhelmed.

“We’re in Paris.  I was told I was going to be taken to Fort de Romainville,” Delphine answered, keeping her voice as low as theirs.  “They arrested me for spying.  They seem more harried than usual, but I don’t know why.”

An older woman in a headscarf and flowered dress put one hand on her arm and gently took Delphine’s chin in the other, angling it to look at her battered face.  She clucked her tongue.

“They really got you.  Was it the Gestapo?  Anna, give me your handkerchief to soak up some of this blood.  I’m Babette, by the way.”

The kerchief was handed to the older woman, who carefully pulled Delphine’s hand from the blood-soaked rag she was holding to the cut behind her ear and replaced it with the blood-free cloth.  

“I’m Delphine.  Thank you.”

Before she could say more, another voice cut in, from a woman in a smart-looking blouse and skirt approaching her and holding, of all things, a fashionable purse.

“That was not the Gestapo,” the woman said, her compact form and dark, curly hair coming into view.  “They make you kneel and stand on your back.  They hang you from your arms.  They almost drown you, or beat you, or even shoot you, but this is too precise.”  She pulled a small bottle out of her purse, opened it and tipped a drop of liquid onto her finger.

“This was someone higher up, special.  Probably the SS.”

She reached out the moistened finger and dabbed it just under Delphine’s nose.  A floral perfume penetrated Delphine’s nostrils, incongruous and sweet.

“Here, this helps with the smell,” the small woman said.  “I’m Danielle Fournier.  I was just brought here this morning.”

“Thank you,” Delphine murmured again, and the woman took her arm and led her to lean against one wall where the reddening sunlight came through a crooked gap between two boards.

“Spying, eh?” Danielle asked.  Her French was like Delphine’s: Parisian, upper class.  Yet, there was some additional tone or resonance in her voice that Delphine found familiar, and warm.  “Me, too,” Danielle continued.  “That, and propaganda.  I was a journalist.  When the papers and magazines were shut down or taken over, my compatriots and I decided to publish our own newsletter.  The Nazis were not so happy with the some of the news we found and published.  And you?”

Delphine hesitated for a moment, wondering if this questioning could be some kind of trap.  But the SS already had her, and if she didn’t reveal anything they didn’t already know, how could it help them?  Besides, just having another human, a Frenchwoman in a similar position, greet her with amity was a gift at this point.

“I helped some foreign soldiers,” she simplified.  “I had some outside connections.”

Danielle nodded, cocking her head.

“More than that, I think,” she said quietly, “considering you kept company with Öberführer von Leekie.”

Delphine’s eyes widened, the left one reminding her of its injury with a sharp jab of pain.  What to say?

“Relax,” Danielle reassured her, putting a hand on her arm.  “A journalist, remember?  It’s been my business to know such things.”

Delphine looked her over again.  Her face was youthful, kind, but her eyes were knowing.  And how ever did she look so put-together now, in this nightmare?

Danielle took note of Delphine’s gaze and seemed to read her mind.

“Are you wondering why I look so healthy?  They just brought me in.  They let me keep my clothes, my purse.  I’m accused of spying, but they really wanted me because I have family in the Free French.  They’re going to hold me as a hostage, and if the Resistance attacks somewhere they don’t like, they say they’ll kill me.”  She shrugged as if this was just a threat, but when she reached into her purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and began to apply it, her hand trembled.

Delphine watched her.  When Danielle finished applying the lipstick, she dropped it back in her purse and clicked the fastener shut.

“There are different levels,” she explained.  “Some prisoners get shipped in box cars so crowded they must stand, and have no room to even fall if they faint.  Some are immediately killed.  Some go to solitary confinement, some to factories.  And some, who are considered valuable, go to a prison where they are allowed a few small privileges, but if things go wrong — comme ça,” she snapped her fingers, “they’re on the next train to Poland.  But the men, they are often immediately shot.”  She glanced out the gap in the train car wall.  The sun had nearly set, and an orange, flame-like glow streaked her face.  “That is what happened to my husband, I am told.”

Delphine caught her breath, and her own hand moved to the smaller woman’s arm, a gesture of condolence, of comfort.

“I wish I had a cigarette,” Danielle said, after a moment, a small, wry smile lacking real warmth coming to her lips as she glanced back at Delphine.

A woman lying in the corner groaned.  A girl sitting by her stroked her head.

“This is another tactic — always a tactic,” Danielle resumed, waving a loosely pointed finger to indicate the cattle car.  “We’re close enough to the fort that they could take us by truck, but they put us in here with women who have been here longer, who are meant to be sent on, to scare us, to give us a taste of the consequences.”  She looked at the swelling and blood on Delphine’s face.  “Although it seems you have already been given a serious dose of those.”

Delphine nodded, and turned her gaze toward the light, as well.  The sun was no longer visible.  Shadows covered a half-collapsed wall by the train tracks.  Deep blues crept toward the horizon from the heavens.

“I’m told,” she finally said, her voice coming out with a rasp, “that there will be more questioning when I arrive.”

Danielle tutted and lightly touched the side of Delphine’s head.

“I wasn’t sure about you, you know,” she said.  “I thought you really might be attached to him, to them.  So, you did very well.”

Her hand moved to Delphine’s chin, raising it slightly.

“We all know we’ve done good work, even if we don’t get to see the end of it.  So, don’t despair.”

She leaned closer to whisper in Delphine’s ear.

“The Allies have landed.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, friends. Thank you for any and all comments and kudos! I really appreciate your support! :)

Alain Bordelon’s cows were stroppy.  They only trusted the farmer, his wife or their son to touch them, and anyone else would receive a more swift and accurate kick than would be expected from a domesticated dairy herd.  This was the only reason why he still had them, and he and his wife were still here, with some sustenance, while so many locals had fled — including their son, at their urging.  When the Germans had first come, one of the soldiers had made as if to shoot the cows after nearly getting his shoulder broken by a flying hoof, but his superior had stopped him.  After all, they were a small detachment that couldn’t eat the cows all at once, and milk, cheese and butter could keep his men fed better than rations and whatever they stole.  So, they took two for meat, and allowed Alain to keep a small portion of the dairy goods that he produced — enough that he would have the strength to maintain his cows, a few chickens and what was left of his crops, provided that he regularly delivered most of it to the Germans’ field mess.  

So, there they were, Cosima and Scott, brushing hay out of their hair as they sat down to a repast that would be considered poor in better times: A heavily watered soup of pigeon, dandelion greens and herbs, thickened with old bread, a makeshift “coffee” of roasted barley and chicory with warmed milk, and a mash of Jerusalem artichokes with actual, heavenly butter.  The irony of the pigeon was not lost on Cosima, who silently saluted its sacrifice as she chewed.  One of their precious chocolate ration squares would also be sacrificed later, to provide a faintly-flavoured hot milk as a special treat for the group.  It was the least they could do.

They said little.  The farmer cleared his throat, after a while.

“I heard Gaizka talking earlier,” he stated, resuming chewing.

“Yes, his fever is down,” Idelle, the farmer’s wife, added, looking up.  “A real miracle.”

“Ah yes, the miracle of sulfa drugs,” Cosima nodded, after swallowing a mouthful.  “Putting these in our troops’ medical kits is going to save a lot of lives, I guarantee you.  Although I do think penicillin will become even bigger, someday.  In the meantime, it saves us having to introduce our Basque buddy to the cleaning power of maggots.”  She didn’t notice the slight heave Scott swallowed at the mention of maggots, but she did notice the slight rise of Alain’s bushy, greying eyebrows over his heavy-lidded expression.

“Sorry,” she offered, “I’m just fascinated by the science of antibiotic treatments.”

There was a moment of silence, save the sounds of cutlery on dishes, chewing and swallowing.

“He, uh, he’s still gonna need a hospital, though, or a real doctor,” Scott piped up after a bit of hesitation.

“Yeah,” Cosima agreed, “we’ve done all we can to stabilize him, but that one knee is pretty bad.  I, um, I’m not sure he’ll be able to keep that leg, and he probably needs a surgeon.”

Another silence descended, Cosima and Scott glancing at each other.  Alain took two large gulps of his “coffee” and set his mug down.  He seemed to contemplate his plate.

“I have my delivery in the mornings, and the horse is slow,” he said, running his fingers over his beard stubble.  “I might get back in the afternoon, but there is the curfew to consider.”  He eased back in his chair, and took out his pipe, packing it with tobacco now mixed with what had been in the Americans’ standard-issue cigarettes.  He lit it and puffed for a long moment.

“The nearest doctor still around is three villages away.  In that time, I could only make it to the second, if there are no problems with the roads or the Germans.”  He fingered his tobacco pouch briefly, before stashing it away.  “I had a friend there that might be able to help you, but I haven’t heard from him in over two weeks, now. As you can imagine, there’s no guarantee the village will even be there now, much less him.”

Idelle tsked and shook her head, rising to gather the dishes.  Cosima didn’t move to join in this feminine task as might be expected, but kept her eyes on Alain.

“Can you show me on a map?”

Scott pulled out his map and spread it in front of the farmer.  All three of them hovered around it as Alain traced the line.  

Cosima took in the miles between the spaces, the wide range of the land all around — land she knew was broken by hills, trees and bocages, the thick, wandering lines of hedges that divided the Normandy farmland into small, oddly-shaped tracts, and made ideal cover for defense of the territory by the Germans, while making offensive movement slow and deadly.  There was no way of knowing where the Germans were at this point.  Alain had become increasingly isolated as more locals had evacuated the area, and although the Germans had been more concentrated farther north, where the Allies’ subterfuge had led them to believe the invasion would actually take place, they may have been sent south to bolster the Normandy beaches.  

Alain looked up at them.

“Were you able to get any information on your wireless?”

Scott and Cosima shook their heads simultaneously.

“Just a little chatter, but it was hard to tune in.  Honestly, I think we’ve probably made it much farther into the interior than the troops have.”  She glanced at Scott. “I think they’re bogged down on the beaches, save a few target areas, though I can’t be sure.  It’s like I said, moving on our own is much faster at this point.”

Scott knew she was right, as usual.  He was coming to terms with the notion that either way would have been equally unsafe.

Cosima adjusted her glasses on her nose, staring at the map in thought.  She seemed to come to a decision.

“Monsieur Bordelon, do you have a telephone?”

The farmer gave a shrug.

“Yes, but the lines were cut some time ago.  Who knows why?  The Germans probably wanted to limit who could communicate.”

“Can you show me where your line connects to the main one?”

With another shrug, the farmer rose from his seat.  He led them to the side of the house.

Cosima looked up at the connection from the telephone pole to the house.  She took a slow turn around, taking in the road, the surrounding land, the barn, and the sightlines.  She turned back to the farmer.

“Alain, I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut your line again.”

* * *

 

 

Later, under cover of night, Cosima and Scott checked over their project.  Cosima hovered by the relatively compact field wireless set, and Scott traced the splices they had made extending the phone line to the barn and attaching it to the radio’s aerial connector.

“Should be all set,” Scott told her, as he hunkered down beside her.  They were against the wall of the barn furthest from the road, a gas lamp turned to dim just illuminating the equipment before them.  He sent up a silent prayer that the phone line would expand their radio signal radius far enough to get what they needed.  The thought of miles lying between them and the closest Allied troops was unsettling.

“Here goes nothin’,” Cosima mumbled, holding the earpiece to her head.  They both remained still, concentrating, as she adjusted the dial, her eyebrows moving through a dance of frowns and inquisitive shifts upward.

Suddenly, her hand shot out, delivering a surprising punch to Scott’s arm.

“We copy you, we copy you,” she said into the microphone.  “This is SSI unit Delta agent 324B21.  Repeat Ambulance 4, what is your position? Over.”

The signal that came over the earpiece was clear, and loud enough that Scott could catch a female British voice raised in a salty combination of aggravation and distress.

“Agent 324B… whatever, my radio man is down, and I’ve honestly got fuck-all idea.  I think I’m several KM south of Caen, but it’s not exactly a good time to check a bloody map, if you get my meaning.  Uh, over.”

There was a rumbling sound behind the voice, and then tinny cracks of what could have been gunfire.

“Hold up, hold up, now — there’s a road sign,” the woman with the cockney twang piped up again.  “Is there honestly a town called Moult?  And why the hell do you sound like an American, anyway?”

Cosima looked at Scott, her expression bemused, but determined.

“Copy that, Ambulance 4.  You’re on the east side of Caen.  Proceed on and I can guide you.  Oh, and I am American.  Do you need a code?  Over.”

There was a pause, a screeching noise, and then the voice came back.

“I can’t say as you saying a code would make any difference to me, seeing as I don’t know ‘em,” it replied.  There was a sigh.  Cosima arched her eyebrows at Scott, nonplussed.

“Fuckin’ east, eh?  Alright, agent, or whoever you are.  You might as well tell me where I’m goin’.”


	12. Chapter 12

She’d thought she’d heard Danielle speaking to her.

“The Allies have landed,” the voice came, swimming through the waters of the brook near her childhood country house, now clogged with metal and bone.  Delphine pushed against the current that had been dragging her down, the taste of blood in her mouth.  “I’ll take you to the forest.  You won’t believe how big the sequoias are.”

It wasn’t Danielle’s voice, at least entirely, it was Cosima’s.  The warmth of it cleared her eyes and lungs, and she was blinking in the sunlight, golden, as it glowed upon enourmous, red-brown trunks that rose up forever. _Her voice reminds me of yours…_ her mind said, and there was a laugh.

“My French is that good?” Cosima asked, and Delphine felt a hand touch hers.  She turned to her side, trying to see, but the sun was in her eyes.  The figure beside her was like Danielle, but had thick-framed glasses and a full American soldier’s uniform, far too big on her, helmet covering her hair.  Delphine couldn’t catch individual features, but she felt a sort of comfort flowing over her.

“I was caught,” she told the haloed figure, and her hand was squeezed. Her thoughts were fuzzy.  “You told me about the forest, the night I told you about the mountains.”  She turned her head and saw a scattering of flowers amidst the trees, the very same ones she’d seen in Chamonix, though it made no sense.

“We’re all going to be friends,” Cosima told her.  “Felix has brought some wine and a blanket, and there’s a surprise.”

Delphine spotted a figure peeping behind one of the trees.  Her heart leapt.  He suddenly sprung out, all smiles.  It was Laurent!

“Didn’t I tell you I’d go sailing?” he boomed.  His face was chapped, his skin covered in fine salt.  He picked her up and spun her around, until she dropped down kneeling over the brook again, now clean, and winding through the forest.  But she spat blood out of her mouth, and it dropped into the water, making a widening ring of red.

There was a banging, and distant male voices, yelling in German.  Delphine turned away from the water before she could see her reflection, and tried to stand, but she was too weak.

Cosima knelt beside her.  She was bigger, now, suddenly big enough to encircle Delphine in an embrace, filling the uniform.  Delphine felt Cosima’s arms secure her as she leaned her head to rest on the American’s bosom.  The German voices were getting closer, but Cosima was singing to her, the way her mother did when she was a child.  Her voice lost all of its usual teasing tone as it rose from her chest into Delphine’s ears.

_“À la claire fontaine,_   
_M'en allant promener_   
_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle_   
_Que je m'y suis baigné…”_

Delphine felt a vibration, as if the earth had been disturbed by some great object.  Her knees were sodden where she had knelt in the earth beside the water, but she tried to sing along.

_“Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_   
_Jamais je ne t'oublierai…”_

She could feel Cosima’s warm breath stir the hair on her forehead.  “You’re so smart, and _brave_ ,” she felt her say.  “I’ll hold you to that.”

Delphine’s fingers clung to Cosima’s uniform.  She didn’t want to see what was around her, hear the other sounds.

“Delphine,” Cosima said, this time less soothingly.  Delphine smelled something foul.  “Delphine,” the voice came again, more urgent.

Delphine opened her eyes.  Moonlight crossed Danielle’s face, shadowed in blue, as the journalist shook her shoulder again.

“Delphine, get up,” she hissed.  “Hurry – the train has stopped!”

Delphine blinked, trying to get her bearings.  She was in the cattle car, kneeling on the floor, her knees soaked in murky filth and her back leaning against a wall.  She caught the shapes of shadows moving around her, other women in the dark.  She took Danielle’s hand and allowed herself to be painfully pulled to her feet.

It was true, the car wasn’t moving.

“Are we at the fort?”  Delphine asked, squinting toward the small space between slats that formed their window.

“No,” Danielle whispered, pulling her to the crack.  Several other women were pressed to the side wall of the train car, trying to see out whatever holes or separated planks they could find.

“We’re not there yet.  From what I can see, I think we’ve run into a crossing of some kind of military convoy.”

Delphine pressed her face to the opening and dimly saw the train stretching ahead.  Several lights, headlights and hand-carried, moved in the darkness, from where there seemed to be a road.  It had to cross in front of the engine, from its position.

“What do you see?” another woman asked, pressing against her.  Delphine’s bruised forehead bumped against the wall, and she saw stars.  There was a creak as women around her pressed forward, and Delphine felt a shift in the wood beneath her hands.  The woman who had pushed her suddenly disappeared, yanked backwards, and Danielle took her place.

“That’s it!” she urged, and leaned against the planking.  Delphine’s vision came back into focus, and she swore she saw the crack she’d been looking out widen.

“Push, ladies, push!” Danielle’s voice rose in a rough half-whisper.  Delphine didn’t think.  Her shoulder was suddenly leaning against the bending plank, along with several other women beside her.  Her body was throbbing with every move, but she had to ignore it.  She tried to direct her strength, her length, into widening the distance between her shoulder and her feet on the floor.  

There were murmurs around her.

“No!” came a voice nearby.  It was Babette.  “They’ll catch us, they’ll shoot us!” Her hand scrabbled at Delphine’s arm, but Danielle pushed her roughly back.

“I’ll take my chances,” she grunted, pushing against the wall.  There was a louder creaking, but a halt in the give of the board.  Male voices in German came drifting to them from somewhere further up the tracks.

“Dammit!” Danielle swore, and then her eyes darted to her purse.  Swiftly, she tilted it, using the clasp as a wedge between the plank’s supports and the bolt head.  She pushed, slammed down on the purse with her fist, and began to wiggle it backwards and forwards.  

Delphine was holding her breath, straining.  She felt a warmth enter her shoe that could only be blood from her leg wound reopening.  She didn’t care.  She heaved back and slammed forward again, biting back a grunt of pain.

“You’re being too loud!  You’ll get us all killed!”  Babette’s voice was rising, panicked. Danielle was leaning backwards now, pulling at the bolt with the warping, thin metal of the top of her purse.

There was a pop.

The bolt skittered into the darkness of the train car, and the plank came loose at one end.  Hands grabbed at it, pushing, pulling, twisting.  There was a hiss and shudder around them.  Delphine’s eyes widened.  The brakes of the train were being released.  They were moving forward.

Danielle had replaced her curses with cold, silent determination.  She wedged her body between the plank and the wall and shoved against it with her entire weight.  Women scrambled in confusion, and Delphine yanked back, helping her.  Another pop and a crack, and the plank came free.

The train was picking up speed.

“C’mon, then!” Danielle hissed, twisting at the plank above the new opening. It pulled slightly upward.

Before Delphine knew it, Danielle’s head and chest were on the outside of the train, her torso and legs swinging to slide herself sideways towards the rushing air.  Other women were pulling at the plank, pushing at Danielle, trying to help her forward.  There was the sound of tearing as her blouse was rent against the projecting splinters, but her compact frame was sliding out.  She was nearly there.  Delphine felt the car wobble as the wheels clacked over a joint in the tracks.  The ground below them was turning into a blur.

“Delphine!” Danielle called, and reached her arm back through the opening.  Delphine grabbed her hand and thrust herself forward, sucking in in both an attempt to make herself as thin as possible and from the pain of the wood and metal scraping against her injuries.  Something was hitting her in the face, the shoulders, over and over again and everywhere, and it was cold and stinging.  Suddenly, her toes were pressed to a tiny lip at the outside edge of the car, and her weight was tumbling forward.

“Push, Delphine, jump!”

She did.

The ground came rushing up at her, and she hit a mixture of soil and gravel that tore into her skin.  She was rolling, and they must have been on a hill, because she kept rolling, brain screaming that she was back in a dream.  She caught up against something by her stomach, and it knocked the breath out of her.  She lay, writhing, and managed to roll over onto her back.

Above her head, a fan of branches swayed gently. Between shivering leaves, the moon half-peeked from behind a thickening cloud, and the stinging cold hitting her resolved itself as the splash of rain drops, intermittent, but picking up and wetting her skin.  She clutched her stomach, lungs screaming, and willed herself to still, to focus.

“Delphine?”  Danielle’s voice, quiet, came from somewhere beside her.  The clacking of the train wheels and the rumble of the engine were fading away into the distance.  The rain picked up, adding a resonant thrum and hiss to the air around them.  Danielle’s head appeared in her view, bending over her.   _Air._

Her diaphragm hitched and released.  Delphine pulled in a harsh, wheezing gasp, digging her fingers into the ground around her as her lungs caught up, pumping, rain falling into her mouth.

“I-“ she sputtered.

“Shh,” Danielle crouched beside her, stroking her hair.  “Give yourself a moment.”

Slowly, her breath normalized.  Her abdomen and head were thrumming, but the rest of her body seemed to have gone relatively numb, perhaps in shock.  She looked up at Danielle, and took the hand that was offered her, pulling herself into a sitting position, half-leaning against her — what?  Compatriot?  Saviour?  Friend?

Danielle looked frankly into her eyes, and squeezed her hand.

“I know it hurts,” she said, her voice low, rain beginning to drip off her hair and onto Delphine’s shoulder, “but once you can breathe, you must try to stand up.”  She looked around, taking in the small stand of trees, the buildings not far behind them.

“And once you stand up, you must run.  I’m afraid we have a ways to go, yet.”


	13. Chapter 13

“This had better be good,” the ambulance driver said, entering the abandoned barn.  They could barely see her, so Scott turned up the lantern.

“I’m not sure it’s good, but it’s important,” Cosima answered, taking in the woman before her.  She was compact, but somehow walked as if she was bigger.  Her dark hair must have taken a licking by the wind while she was speeding around, because she had no hat and it had blown into some semblance of a lion’s mane.  She had sharp eyes, a suspicious expression, and was pointing an Enfield service revolver at the small group before her.

“Yeah?” The woman asked, distrust melding into skepticism on her face.  “Must be some real high-level espionage shite, for you to bring me this far behind enemy lines, eh?  I thought I was brown bread and buggered halfway here.”

“Technically, I don’t have to answer that,” Cosima responded, arms half-raised in caution, “since you don’t know any classified passwords or codes.  And, in all fairness, you were already heading this way, and lost.”

The driver’s eyes bugged a little in disbelief.

“Oi!  What part of me having a gun don’t you understand?”  She looked over at Scott, who was at this point sweating, his face flushed red.  “What’s his problem?”

“Well, other than having your gun aimed at him, I think he might just be unused to your… colourful language, for a lady.” She eyed the service weapon.  “Uh, not that I have any problem with that.”

The driver stared at her for a moment, tensed.

“Okay, look,” Cosima explained, “we don’t have any real identification because Scott, here, and I are undercover.  What we have is fake.  The gentleman behind me is a local farmer, so he might be able to show you some papers from the Germans, but the young man on the hay bale is a Basque resistance fighter, and he’s been in and out of consciousness for the last few hours.  So, all I can tell you is we came in with the Pathfinders on the morning of the sixth, and I hope we can try to trust each other, here.”

The driver squinted at her, wavering.

“Come on,” Cosima urged, “we got you here.  We just need to get this man some medical assistance and get a little closer to Paris.  After that, I promise you, we can guide you back.  We have maps.”  She took a small step forward, holding out her hand.  “I’m Cosima.”

The driver sighed and lowered the gun.

“Sarah Manning,” she replied, then briefly shook the Special Agent’s hand.  “But I’m not gonna be much help with the medical stuff.  I’m a bloody driver, not a nurse.  I just know basic bandages, and what-all.”

“Okay, that’s fine, Sarah,” Cosima nodded, “there’s a doctor a few villages down.”

Sarah scratched her head.

“Shite, this is nuts.  I’m supposed to back near the beach field hospital by now.”

“Yeah, it’s nuts for all of us,” Cosima acknowledged, taking a map that Scott handed her.  “Although, aren’t you supposed to have maps and a compass, yourself?”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah agreed, while sounding anything but agreeable, “but you know, they got kind of hard to read when my truck-mates became fuckin’ smears all over them, if you get that.” She reached into her chest pocket and pulled out a set of red and green fiber dog tags on a string, clearly browned with dried blood. “I couldn’t even find the ones for my medic.”

Cosima bowed her head slightly.  Scott looked down and swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” Cosima said.

“Can you tell me if everything is alright, here?” Alain interjected in French. “I need to get back before sunrise.”  Sarah looked at him.

“Froggy there looks as clueless as the rest of us.  Whatever he’s saying, let’s get this done with.  The best thing I can do for my mates now is to get word of what happened to them back to our unit, and then get back to pickin’ up casualties.”

“Okay,” Cosima agreed, and everyone’s shoulders seemed to drop a little, feeling the easing of tension in the air.  “Now here’s what we’ve gotta do…”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a playlist/soundtrack available for this story. If you're interested, you can find it at http://theswanandthedove.blogspot.com/

Her bones were sinking into the soft mattress.  She knew she was awake, but she did not yet open her eyes.  Instead, she let herself feel the bed conforming to her shape, cradling her battered body with a gentle resistance to gravity, and perhaps to despair.

Docteur Lafrange had seemed like an angel, or perhaps a human form possessed by her father’s spirit.

“I knew your father, Delphine,” he had said last night, “he was a good doctor, a good man,” and that was enough to make her give in, to collapse into being taken care of, to let down her guard.  She had been so very tired, only her fear, adrenaline and Danielle’s urging had kept her moving through the shadows, through the streets, to reach this safe house.

He had given her painkillers and a sedative, so his gentle treatment of her wounds, along with Madame Lafrange’s tender cleansing and clothing of her body and ministration of hand-fed soup, were only part-remembered, fading in and out as her consciousness had, her brain slowing and shutting down until she was laid to rest.  

It was only a few hours later that she had awoken, crying out, and Danielle came to her, holding her as sobs rent her uncontrollably, her whole being shaking with the small release this respite allowed.

“There, my girl.  You are going to be strong, Delphine.  Let it out, and it won’t break you,” Danielle had assured her fiercely into her hair as Delphine’s moans turned to harsh exhales against the smaller woman’s shoulder.  When Delphine caught a scent she realized the journalist had re-applied her perfume, and it somehow grounded her, knowing that this woman who held her was persistent, dignified, and determined to keep moving on as she chose to in the face of all that was evil with defiance.  It made Delphine feel as though she could, too.

Now a small slash of white light crossing her face from the edge of the curtain signaled to her even through her closed eyelids that morning had come.  The sun had indeed risen and, even now, voices and sounds came softly through the window-glass from outside, attesting to the fact that, despite everything, Parisians were living their lives in this city draped and muffled by the caul of occupation.

_It is said that whoever possesses a caul will never drown,_ some corner of Delphine’s mind whispered, and she thanked it.   _May France, as inundated as it is, never fully go under, expire._

There was a small sound from the door, and Delphine pried her eyelids open, turning slightly to see Madame Lafrange peeping through.

“Ah, you’re awake!” The somehow still-plump woman smiled, and turned to call over her shoulder.  “She is awake, mon ours.  I will tell Danielle while you check her.”

The doctor soon entered, leaning over her with a kindly look.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle,” he rumbled from beneath his greying beard. “Allow me to check your dressings.”

Delphine nodded and felt her consciousness slowly returning as he placed a thermometer in her mouth and inspected her bandages, gently probing around her bruises with his fingertips.  She flinched now and then, but only slightly, as he released his hands’ pressure at any sign of tenderness.  He took out and read the thermometer and nodded with satisfaction.

“Good.  I wanted to make sure you hadn’t broken a rib, after all.  Despite what you’ve been through, I think it’s mostly surface. There will be scars, but with good care, you will feel healthy enough again soon.”

Mostly surface, Delphine thought to herself, if you don’t count my soul.  Her inhalations felt slightly tremulous, as if the sobs were still lurking just underneath her breath.

Madame Lafrange entered, carrying a tray. There was tea on it, sliced melon, and, most heavenly of all, fresh toasted bread with preserves.

“Here you are, Mademoiselle.  You need to get some food in you.”  She noticed Delphine’s raised eyebrows as she gazed at the toast.  

“Ah, yes, the bread.  We are very fortunate.  Some of my husband’s patients pay him in flour, and so forth.  Of course, if we find an injured stray who is hungry, we will feed her.”  Her smile was warm.

“Delphine,” came Danielle’s voice from the door.  She sauntered into the room, a smoking cigarette dangling from her fingers.  “You look well.  You have some colour in your cheeks, now.”

Delphine felt a small smile ghost across her lips.  “Yes, I’m improving,” she answered, adjusting the napkin that Mme. Lafrange had draped across her chest, “and I have you to thank.”

Danielle let out a little _pffft_ of dismissal, smoke streaming from between her lips with it.

“I saw you pushing on that board, too,” she shrugged, “and as a journalist, I have to make many friendly contacts around the city.  Speaking of which…”  She took the chair beside Delphine’s bed and paused.  The good doctor and his wife seemed to take her cue and, with assurances to come back later, slipped out of the room.

Danielle put down a small ashtray that had been in her other hand on the side table.  She tapped her cigarette into it.

“Smoke?” she asked, nodding at the smouldering stick.  Delphine shook her head.

“Perhaps later, thank you,” she said.

“Alright,” Danielle acknowledged.  “What I was going to say is, you have contacts of your own, I’m sure.  Is there anyone you need to reach?”

Delphine’s eyes widened a bit in thought.

“No, I… one of my last contacts turned out to be… compromised, so…”  She hesitated. “Unless you are able to reach the SOE or OSS?”

Danielle raised her eyebrows and blew out a plume of smoke.

“Hmm, it sounds like our high-society beauty was perhaps in deeper with our cause than we thought.”  One corner of her mouth turned upwards.  She was both teasing and serious.  “No, I don’t personally have direct contacts with the English or the Americans, but I certainly know people who do.  Tell me, Delphine, how were you able to reach our allies without being noticed for so long?”

Delphine exhaled.  Finally someone she could talk to about this.  But, she should still be cautious.

“I had a two-way wireless — top of the line — because my father was an enthusiast.  I had agents across the channel that I spoke with, along with some other… unconventional methods of contact.”

Danielle looked impressed.

“It _must_ have been top of the line, for voice contact across that distance.  I assume they confiscated or destroyed it?”

“Yes,” Delphine answered simply. Glancing down with an unexpected wave of sadness.  It was like losing part of her family all over again… her father’s legacy, and the funny American woman who had been her only close friend for some time.

“Of course,” Danielle sighed.  “Well, I can get messages through via word of mouth and Morse code in stages, but I’m not sure who specifically we’ll reach, or how long it will take.  What would you like to say?”

Delphine’s eyes snapped up to meet Danielle’s.  Her voice sounded uncertain when it came out, but something in her eyes betrayed a deeper hope or yearning than Danielle had expected.

“Tell them… tell them to reach station 17.  Tell them the Swan is looking for the Dove.”

A smirk played around Danielle’s lips.

“That is… very poetic,” she finally said, “and mysterious.”  Then she moved on.  “Fine.  The other thing is, you are also well-known among certain circles, as well.  We have to decide if we should get you out of the city, or, if you stay, we’ll have to alter your appearance.”

Delphine swallowed her bite of toast and sipped her tea, thoughtful.

“Well, it seems you should know what is the safest for everyone,” she responded.  “It’s not me I’m worried about.  I don’t want to jeopardize you or your friends.”

Danielle tilted her head, puffing her cigarette.

“You are a good person Delphine,” she said, “and I’m sure the resistance can use your help, yet.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again, friends! If you're following along on the playlist, the tracks for this chapter are the Captain America theme and The White Cliffs of Dover.

She was Captain America, smashing through a window and punching Hitler in the face.

“I told you we could get ‘em with mono-methylamine nitrate, Bucky,” Cosima crowed at Scott, whose glasses were incongruously over his sidekick mask.

“You bet, Captain!”

Cosima whirled around, something was amiss.  She looked out the window.

“We’re in France, and they’re taking the Eiffel tower!”

A huge dirigible, larger than any she’d ever seen, had cables attached to the landmark and was rising.

“That’s no Santos-Dumont No. 6,” she exclaimed, “that’s a Zeppelin!”

Before she knew it she was leaping from a high story and running across the cityscape almost like flying.  The Red Skull was behind all this, she _knew_ it.  With a mighty heave she flung her shield into the sky, where it easily bisected one of the cables, causing the airship to pitch.

But there was a problem.  She could see Delphine in the gondola through its walls, wrists tied and sliding from the sudden tilt down the incline of the control car floor toward a hole in the back.  Cosima grunted as her shield returned to her arm like a boomerang, grinding her teeth in frustration.

With a herculean effort, she ran toward the blimp and leapt, catching the double agent close to the ground.  

“Delphine, are you okay?” She cradled the Swan in her arms.

“You’re my special agent,” Delphine told her warmly, then seemed sad, “but they always seem to get us.”  Her face was impossibly close, and Cosima could smell the scent of her perfect hair.

Cosima felt a sudden blow to the top of her head.  The Red Skull had jumped down and pounded on her.  He grabbed Delphine by the arm and she rose.

Cosima suddenly realized that her costume was torn, long swaths of her naked flesh revealed.  A sense of shame worked to overwhelm her.  

Delphine shrugged as she looked down at her.

“What could you expect?” she asked, and walked away with the enemy.  Cosima couldn’t understand it.  Delphine didn’t seem to care.  Was she even a little resigned, or was it just that she would rather follow her seemingly inevitable path?  Cosima had found her, but her rescue seemed as unwanted as it was unsuccessful, in the end.

Captain America went to find her childhood house, to get to the roof.  Gazing at the stars always made her feel better, but it was so very far to get there, now.

Cosima woke with a jolt.  A booted foot was nudging her in the leg.

“Oi, mystery boffin,” Manning was grumbling at her, “that godawful sound you’re makin’ grindin’ your teeth is gonna  draw ev’ry Jerry in the Euro theatre.  Give it a rest, ‘ey?”

Cosima looked around, remembering where she was.  It was the dim, interior office of a warehouse, dusty with neglect.  There weren’t a lot of wares to house in France at this time, at least not for the French, themselves.

She slid sideways to sit up without bonking her head on the table she was under.  

“Cos?” Scott’s soft voice came to her from the doorway, checking in.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she nodded, and felt around until she found her canteen, then took a long pull of tepid water.  Scott moved back to his lookout duty in the hallway.

Gaizka was safe, or, at least, safer than he had been from dying of his injuries.  How long he would remain undiscovered in the doctor’s brother’s fishing cabin was another story altogether.

Cosima sighed and wiped her face.  Manning was curled away from her, asleep or just trying to, she couldn’t tell.  She must have been wiped out from the driving, coaxing the unwieldy ambulance through uneven terrain, sometimes at speeds that were highly inadvisable — or at least Cosima wouldn’t advise them, between what she understood of physics and the way she got tossed around in the cab like a single kernel in a popcorn pan.  When night fell, they’d have to send Sarah Manning back with their directions and a coded message for the higher ups.  They had promised, and it was only fair.  One of Gaizka’s compatriots was to serve as her guide and gunman.  He assured them that he had worked out ways to travel relatively safely at night, during his months of smuggling under the German’s noses.  Cosima could tell that Manning felt relieved to meet him, despite his rudimentary English.  What did it say about Cosima and Scott’s chances when someone felt safer trying to sneak through enemy territory back toward the battle zone in an obviously British ambulance than to continue on with them into Paris? _Doesn’t matter, we’ve all got our duties, and our motivations,_ she told herself, and capped her bottle.

Delphine hadn’t laughed at her when she told her how she liked to read comics.

“I used to read stories and comics with my second cousins,” she had said.  “Some of them still make an enjoyable escape — more so than medical texts, I can tell you.  Also, my favourite cousin, who is almost like a brother, reads some bandes dessinées.”  Cosima didn’t think that Delphine quite got it, how it was even more satisfying to see the enemies defeated with exaggerated characters than it could be watching a film, how it could be a simple rest for her brain to regress from its constant churning over formulas and ciphers to view a world that, for all its bright colours, portrayed good and evil in plain black and white.  But then Delphine had said “that is, I think, rather cute,” and Cosima had… what?  Nearly swooned?  

 _Damn it,_ Cosima stopped herself.  There were certain trains of thought you just shouldn’t ride to the end.

But their communications had been almost as vivid in her mind as the printed heroes she had held in her hands, Cosima recollected.  When she had talked about her work in treating and training dogs and pigeons as messengers, Delphine had shared her enthusiasm, drawing parallels to working with the horse she had when she was younger.  When Cosima went on one of her rambling tangets, Delphine, despite being on a wireless in a very real and dangerous situation, surrounded by potential captors, seemed to easily go along, asking questions and sharing her own experiences and knowledge.  And Delphine had a lot of knowledge.  Clearly she was an advanced student in medicine and biology, as well as being schooled in multiple areas, both by actual teachers and by being precocious and present among the important upper-class family friends she spoke with at gatherings and parties.  Cosima had met some smart women, some brave women, in her time, but none rivalled what she had learned of Delphine, and none of them had seemed to click with her in just the same way, despite the distance between them.

There was a sniff beside her, and Manning sat up.

“You’re gonna bore a hole in that wall, you keep staring at it,” she chided, voice low with the dregs of sleep.  She took a sip from her own water bottle and stared at Cosima frankly, as if trying to see inside her head.

“So you’re a regular genius, then,” she huffed, “but it seems to me this plan of yours isn’t the brightest.  Mind me for sayin’, but this agent you’re rescuin’, she must be pretty damn important.”

Cosima sighed, and a rueful smile briefly passed through her lips.

“Actually, not a lot of people would think she’s worth it, I imagine,” she admitted, weary enough to be stripped down to honesty.  “There was no plan among the higher-ups to get her out.  There are actually very few agents they’re risking much to extract at all, really.  The people who do this, who work undercover with their lives at stake, they know the risks, but they do it anyway.  They’re trying to preserve something in the world, maybe freedom or just a basic humanity the Nazis seem to want to bury away.  In her case, maybe… maybe she got in over her head.  Maybe she, and the others, have seen things that make them fatalistic, if not suicidal.  But, I dunno…”  She ran her hands over her face, rubbing her eyes.  “I just feel like… like somebody’s got to try, you know?  Try to preserve these people who are good, who are fighting… who are living on just their wits, in secret.  They must feel so very alone.”

Sarah listened, watching her.

“So you know this broad from before, eh?  ‘Cause it sounds to me like you went after her special.”

Cosima shook her head.

“She was my assignment, my responsibility.  But she became a friend.”

Sarah squinted her eyes.  She seemed to be seeing something inside Cosima that made her feel exposed, want to squirm.  Maybe she had said too much.

“Well, my job is helping as many wounded as I can,” the driver told her, “but I guess…”

The Englishwoman paused, chewing her lip.  She twisted for a moment and one of her hands disappeared down her jacket, re-remerging with a metal flask.  She uncapped it, took a quick swig, and gave a satisfied grunt as the liquid went down.  She looked back at Cosima and held out the flask to her.

Cosima took the flash and smelled the opening.

“Damn,” she exclaimed, her eyebrows rising.  The small bottle gave off the sting of alcohol, and the peaty, oaky scent of a surprisingly good whiskey. Cosima took a pull and felt the fire burn down her throat and warm her stomach.

Sarah took the flask back.

“Yeah,” she nodded, and settled back against the table leg, then picked up her previous thoughts.  “I guess I can understand wanting to look out for… one person you feel responsible for.  I’d like that, too.  It’s just…”

Cosima didn’t interrupt.  She let Sarah stare into the shadows for a moment.

“I kinda made a real mess of things back home,” the driver shared.  She fiddled with the hair at the back of her head.  “I took off for a while.  Just… disappeared.  And when I got back, my brother was gone and my kid… well, she’s at a house out in the country, safe from the bombing, my foster mom says.  But she wouldn’t let me see her, and I…” She sighed, shrugged.  “I had to do something to be useful, to show I can do right.”

Cosima thought about the horrors and dangers an ambulance driver on the front must see.  She wondered how much Sarah valued her own life.

“Seems like you feel you have a lot to prove,” she said softly.  Sarah nodded.

“Yeah, you know, a friend of mine back in the states, he had a foster sister…” Cosima began, then ground to a halt. “Wait. No.  Whoa… _no_ …”

Sarah cocked her head at her.

“You said your last name was Manning, right?  Nothing like a… doesn’t begin with an S… or were you called Dawkins at any time?” Cosima babbled.

Sarah’s eyes immediately expanded and rounded.

“What the bollocks?” she sputtered, disbelieving.  “Dawkins is my foster brother’s last name.  You can’t…”

But her sentence was cut off as Cosima flung herself across the short distance that separated them and pulled her into a strong hug.

“Holy watershed, you’re _Sarah_ Sarah,” she almost shouted.  “Felix’s Sarah!  I know your brother.”

Sarah’s face cycled through a quick progression of confusion, rising shock and hope.  Her tongue fumbled.

“You know Fee…?” was the only thing that could come out of her mouth.

Cosima leaned back, loosening her embrace so she could look at the gobsmacked woman.

“Yeah, we’re friends, back in San Francisco.  I knew he had a missing sister, but… holy cow, he never told me her last name, and I just assumed…”

Cosima took in the woman before her.  Her hard shell had seemed nearly impenetrable, but now a film of tears was building in her eyes, one spilling over and tracking down her cheek.

“That’s not… I can’t believe it,” the stunned Englishwoman whispered.

“Hey!” Cosima squeezed her shoulders.  “Maybe take this as a sign.  Maybe, if we can meet each other in all this craziness… maybe you’re meant to see your family again.”

They stared at each other, eye to eye.  Cosima felt tears of wonderment fill her eyes, as well, and offered a half-crumpled smile, snuffling.

“Shite,” Sarah murmured, then clutched Cosima’s arm.  “Does this mean… does this mean you can get a message to him from me?  Say I’m sorry?  Once we… presumin’ we make it outta…” Her eyes moved around, spanning the room, the situation, the war.

“Hell, do you even know the _odds_ of us meeting each other?” Cosima wondered.  “Incredible!”  Then, “yes, yes, of course.  I’d be happy to.  And I’ll give you both our addresses and my telephone number in town, and you give me whatever you want.”

They both had surprised smiles, now, beneath their tears.  Cosima cocked her head.

“You know, Felix said a couple times that I reminded him of you.  I mean, physically.”  She pursed her lips.  “I guess we’re about the same height.”

“Huhn,” Sarah huffed, wiping a sleeve across her eyes.  “Yeah, well… I don’t see it,” she shrugged, “but maybe he’s just desperate to see me, eh?”

“Hmm, maybe,” Cosima grinned, “and once we win the war and get out of here, I’ll make sure he does.”

She shook her head to herself.  Sometimes scientific probability and order seemed to take a flight of fancy into what some people called fate.  Cosima didn’t know when human beings might work all that out, but, in the meantime, she took it as one of nature’s miracles, where philosophy and religion crossed with the whorls and patterns of an infinite universe and seemed to align.  It gave her an odd, fizzy feeling that couldn’t just be explained by the whiskey, and it was glorious.  She could interpret it as a confirmation that she was on the right path, or dismiss it as bald coincidence.  She decided she would take it for a good sign.

The rest of the light hours were spent sharing stories and information about Felix, post- and pre-flight to the United States.  As the sun rose, Sarah was actually hesitant to follow the course of action they had planned and leave Cosima to get back to the front lines.  Once won over, Sarah proved herself concerned and generous to a fault, offering her help and any supplies she could furnish from the ambulance or her own private stash of objects, hoarded or stolen.  Cosima accepted some refills for their medical kit and some lightweight rations, but urged Sarah to head back toward Normandy as quickly but safely as possible.  She knew Sarah might be helpful, in her own way, but if she went missing for too long, the authorities would think the driver was captured or dead, which could lead to complications.  What was more, Cosima had seen the look in Sarah’s eyes when she talked about assisting the wounded.  It might be hard on her, and she may even hate it in her own way, but Cosima had no doubt she would feel guilty, as though she had blown one more promise, if she didn’t return to her assignment.  Also, Cosima needed heads at least as cool as hers and Scott’s around, if they were going to make it into Paris undetected.  Sarah seemed a little hair-trigger with her anger and need to act for all that.

Sarah ultimately agreed, but insisted on driving them in a few miles closer to the city, along back roads, when night fell.  Scott had found some stained and ragged oilcloths in one room of the warehouse, and they did what they could to drape and secure them to the ambulance, covering the distinguishing cross and other markings as best they could.  Anyone with real knowledge would know what the truck really was, but if their luck held, darkness and keeping to less populated areas would protect them a bit longer.

Paris.  Once Sarah dropped them off, they’d be almost there.  Cosima had to take deep breaths just thinking about it.  She had to lose herself, blend into the city, as best she could, but she also had to try to contact whatever allied agents or resistance members she could find, and then she had to find Delphine… presuming she was still alive.

No.   Cosima wouldn’t think like that. _One foot in front of the other_ , she told herself, going over the papers, maps and money they had and her best French in her mind.  She had to be meticulous, but they had to seem casual, just a couple more residents of a city taken and ruled by oppressive conquerors.  They’d have to find places to lay low, and, based on the intelligence she’d gathered, Cosima had some ideas about where to go.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the delights of #cophinefluffathon, let's get back to cophine in war and danger!

Danielle tried to take her time about letting Delphine participate in Resistance activities. While Delphine’s knowledge of the daily habits and movements of the higher ranking officers could prove useful, allowing Delphine to physically participate was a dangerous proposition.  For one thing, it was known that both of them had disappeared, and the Nazis were looking for them.  It was said that Öberführer von Leekie was so furious about Delphine’s escape, in particular, that a number of soldiers and officers were treated to punishments usually reserved for the enemy.  Danielle’s contacts whispered that Die Klinge had been personally assigned to extract information to find them, but, in response to some other emergency, he was called out of the country, much to von Leekie’s rage.  Despite his absence, someone like Delphine, who had circulated among the German officers and had even previously been someone known due to her upper-class family and beauty, could be recognized if they weren’t careful.  Add to that her still not being fully healed and the obvious wounds she was sporting, and Danielle opted to keep her new friend safe within the walls of the Lafranges’ house, for a while.

However, she had told Delphine she could help, and neither woman was one to sit on her hands.  And so it was that, true to Danielle’s prediction, after a short recovery period, the blonde became a brunette with mussed hair, more olive skin, no highlighting makeup and cheap eyeglasses, and the brunette became an ashy blonde, prone to wearing unfashionable clothes and her hair in dully-patterned scarves.  Danielle had many friends she trusted, and she conferred with them, both within and outside the Lafranges’ house.  Despite early talk of moving Delphine or both of the women outside Paris, but the threat of being caught trying to leave was considerable, even with the attention that had been shifted to Normandy since the invasion.  The truth was, with Danielle’s ties to the city, she could be of much more use to her compatriots there than anywhere else, and Delphine, wanting to stay, insisted on being put to use as a doctor’s assistant to Dr. Lafrange, once she had healed enough to be more mobile.  Although she did not yet have her doctorate, Paris could use all the medical assistance it could get.

Besides that, Delphine filled in Danielle further on her experience with wireless radio and Allied contact codes.  Intrigued, Danielle had both sent out Delphine’s message as well as she could and, in relatively short order, been able to procure several broken wireless sets and enough parts that Delphine was almost finished putting together a working receiver and transmitter.  The project she was working on on her own was trying to duplicate, or approximate, by memory, Cosima’s frequency-hopping device.  The original had looked deceptively simple, as many works of genius do, but as much as she had learned from her father sharing his hobby with her, Delphine’s attentions had always been more turned to medicine and biology than electrical engineering, and she had never seen the device properly unassembled — only whole or dashed into bits.  And so, in time, she found herself needing to leave the house to both visit patients and consult with a wireless operator running a short-range pirate broadcast.

Nonetheless, her exposure still had to be limited.  It was thus that she found herself several times a week below the streets of the City of Light, dwarfed by the sheer volume of skulls and bones in the ossuaries of the city of darkness that was the catacombs of Paris.

The Germans had control of some areas of the Empire of the Dead, that was true, but their knowledge could not rival that of the native French.

Delphine became used to travelling in near-complete darkness, and to distinguishing the sounds of settling earth and bones and the scrabble of insects and rodents from the sounds of whispers and footfalls.  The cool of the crypts was welcome, even, compared to the temperatures above as the city settled into the true summer heat — both in terms of actual temperature and the desperate fervor of the Germans trying to hold onto their occupied territories.

She had been tending to a young girl with a fever one evening when word came of a sweep, and she had to enter the catacombs from a different point than usual.  The maps had been imprinted in her head by her brothers in the Resistance as a matter of course, but the maps weren’t always complete or exact as it was, and navigating in person in an area one hadn’t visited was a challenge.  Delphine kept her fingers molded closely around the lens of her electric torch, allowing only slivers of light beyond the faint, blood-red glow of her illuminated fingers’ flesh to penetrate the gloom as needed.

A murmur ahead drew her to a stop.  There was a distant flicker of light from a passage before her, and slowly the sound of men’s voices talking quietly.  She glanced around quickly and backed up to a perpendicular passage.  There was a mound of skeletal remains there that might provide cover from sight if not peered at too carefully, and she edged behind it.

The voices were coming closer and it was with some relief that she was able to make out that they were speaking in French.  Pieces of their conversation drifted to her.  

“… there’s nothing wrong with potatoes,” said one man.  “They are good solid, food, filling and good for you.  Let’s not forget how poorly the Irish did without them.”

“I agree, Bertrand, but he says the plan makes sense,” the other man replied.  “We don’t have enough medicine and we don’t have enough food, but at least we get some basic rations to eat.  With the way things are going, it’s no surprise the Germans are being stingy with what medicine they have.  Besides, Jean-Paul says his family has been raising mushrooms for centuries, and they always knew some properties beyond what you could eat.”

“Well, I’d like to eat some good mushrooms, too.  Not to mention, thicken my soup with bread.  Growing fuzzy things on it instead seems criminal.”

 _Fuzzy things?_  If Delphine was hearing correctly, were they referring to growing mold and other fungi to make medicines… even antibiotics?  That was something that required knowledge and precision beyond being able to find and grow the right kinds.  Giving someone the wrong or unrefined antibiotics could kill them as surely as not treating an infection at all.  She didn’t know how they had gotten started on such a project, but she felt she had to give her advice to them on the matter, as long as they weren’t collaborationists.

Delphine thought that one of the men’s voices sounded familiar.  It could be that he was Claude, a farmer and smuggler who had been storing and moving foodstuffs to resistance fighters and people in need via the old mining tunnels and crypts.  Danielle had introduced them once, briefly.  They were coming closer, and she had to decide whether or not to reveal herself to them.  She chewed her lip and listened further.

“Well, you’ll have your vote.  And I know we’re all hungry.  But I think more of us are at risk of infection and sickness than starvation, at least while we’ve got the black market and the initiative to help the needy from the boss, and also that Fournier woman.”

That decided it for her.  She let out a low whistle, and spoke softly, so as not to startle them too much.

“Brothers, hello.  I work with Danielle Fournier and Docteur Lafrange.  ‘Blessent mon cœur…’”

“’D’une langueur monotone,’” they automatically responded, surprised, but completing the code.

She noticed that they each had old shotguns with them, but their worried expressions revealed that they realized that not only had they been snuck up on, but their old-fashioned guns were even less useful when they didn’t have them at the ready.  Delphine gave them a soft smile as reassurance.

“I’m sorry to startle you, but I heard you talking about a project to grow fungi,” she gently prompted.

“Ah, yes,” the one she knew as Claude rubbed the back of his neck.  It did him little good, as his hands were filthy with ground-in soil, and the grime formed a dark smear on down to his collar.  The other man, Bertrand, the one who preferred his mushrooms as food, looked her up and down.

“Well, Mademoiselle, I haven’t seen you around here before,” he grumbled, “you should be more careful.  You could have gotten yourself shot.”

Delphine chose not to reveal that she had a concealed handgun on her person, as well.

“Delphine, is it?” Claude asked.  “I hope Madame Fournier and the Lafranges are well.  Were you sent with a message for Pascal?  He’s not here now, but we can bring it to him.” He licked his lips.  “I know he was going to visit at the Lafranges’ house soon and tell her about the project.  We’ve just been so busy…”

Delphine nodded, as if in understanding.  She knew the truth was probably more complicated.  If she recalled correctly, Pascal was known as a mid-level leader in “Colonel” Rol’s communist French resistance faction.  Despite all working toward the end of ejecting the Germans from France, resistance members in differing groups often did not see eye-to-eye with others regarding the political future of a free France.  This particular group wanted a France liberated from the inside by the workers, and run thereafter with a communist government, probably headed by Rol.  They seemed hard-line, perhaps even more committed to their political ends than to a speedy liberation.  

Danielle had once mentioned that she had worked with anarchists, communists, Spanish republicans, maquis, Allied spies, refugees, and all sorts of other groups in the resistance, but trusted Rol least, as she felt he cared less about the safety of Parisians than having himself appear to be the liberator of the capitol.  She was more inclined to work with the factions who supported General de Gaulle, who was working with the British and Americans to access Paris from the West, where his regiments had landed in Normandy earlier in the month.  They nominally wanted a democracy, although everybody knew that if de Gaulle succeeded in liberating the capitol city, he would immediately become the government leader.  Even if he had egotistically implied that he, himself, was the heart and representative of free France, de Gaulle had opposed the French government’s armistice with the Germans, and had organized tirelessly to coordinate both the resistance within France and the remnants of the French Army he commanded, which had been fighting in defense and support of French holdings and interests in Africa and Indochina, as well as now advancing from the West with the Allies towards Paris.  To Danielle, the greater likelihood of military success and a democratically elected government, whatever party ended up dominating it, made the Gaullists the better bet.

Much of this political maneuvering went right through Delphine’s head, not because it was beyond her, but because she hadn’t been privy to it during most of her mission inside the Nazi government, and she was, frankly, not up to speed.  She took in what she could, particularly from Danielle, but in her fatigue from her torture and recovery, putting one foot in front of the other to physically help the sick and wounded and lend the knowledge of wireless operations was her focus, and what she committed to.  In this situation, she didn’t know what these two men, at least one a former farmer, rather than a resident of the city, believed in and held as goals, but she knew she had to be careful to put them at ease, despite her obvious friendship with Danielle Fournier.  It was important that she find out about this project for possibly creating medicines, and she didn’t want any resistance infighting to stop her.  So, she put on a sweet smile and shrugged, palms up, as if unknowing and unconcerned about any issues between Pascal and her housemates.

“Actually, I’m in this section because I was treating a sick child nearby, and there was a sweep.  I’m not on any further mission.  I’m just a medical assistant and a scientist, so the uses of fungi interest me.  Could I possibly see what you’re doing?”

The two men glanced at each other.

“I would love to think we might be able to help the ill more, and it sounds as though you two are doing such good work for the people,” she softened her eyes at them, and saw Bertrand adjust his collar.

“I… suppose we have time for that,” Claude finally offered, after a moment. “It may be that you can make more sense of it than we can.”

Bertrand nodded tersely.  “Yes, but stay close and don’t wander off.  These tunnels can be dangerous, and we’ve been sworn to protect our section.”

They led her further down the passages, making a few turns that she worked to lodge in her memory.  Eventually, they came to a dark archway, and stepped into a cavern.

Claude was moving in the near-blackness, Bernard keeping his lantern aimed at their feet.  There was the pop-hiss of a match strike, and a glow grew as Claude lit some larger lanterns hanging from beams further in the room.  Delphine took in a breath.  The space was large, much larger than she’d expected from the size of the doorway.

She turned her head to take in what the light revealed.  There were bins and boxes, some closed, some empty, some filled with supplies like the aforementioned potatoes, as well as onions, beets, carrots, and the inevitable Jerusalem artichokes.  It was impressive, seeing the amount of food they had amassed, stored, and were distributing under the Nazis’ very noses.

But Claude had walked further, and was motioning for her to follow, while Bertrand stayed, watchful, at the doorway.

When she caught up, he was leading her to an actual door, which opened into a smaller passageway.  She could see in his lamplight that it was angled upward, part ramp, part stairs, towards the surface.  She turned on her flashlight, adding to the area they could see.

Claude nodded and proceeded upward.  As they rose, she began to see cubbies and shelves dug into the walls.  They held pots, different kinds of earth and stones, mulch, loam and rotting logs. Many seemed empty, but plants were growing on others — vines, roots, mushrooms and fungi of various types and stages of growth.  She felt the air warming as they climbed, and other cubbies revealed their contents: melons, citrus peels, breads, most baring a coating of one type of mold or another.  There were thermometers spaced here and there, bags of supplies on the stairs, watering cans and misters.  Everything was clearly well-tended and organized.  She was biting her lip at the sight of it all.

“Close your eyes,” Claude whispered, and suddenly, before she could fully lower her lids, he was pulling an angled door open, and sunlight was flooding her vision.  She looked back down the passage to let her eyes adjust, and noted that the cubbies had been carved out at different projections, with more or less overhang to each, to let in varying amounts of light.

“Brilliant,” she whispered to herself, but Claude heard her, and looked proud.

“Yes, it’s been a lot of work. We were already growing edible mushrooms, but then came those crazy Americans, and suddenly everything was very precise…”

“Americans?” Delphine blurted. “Who are they?”

“Ah, two of them, scientists, a man and a woman.  I don’t know them well, only seen the lady twice.  The fellow, Monsieur Smith, he’s also a soldier.  Very nice, but very serious about this, especially lately.”

“This Monsieur Smith, he oversees this?  What does he do with the samples you’re growing?”

“He harvests them into, into glass vials and… petri dishes?  They have created a small laboratory somewhere.  I, myself, have used an ointment they made on a deep cut.  It healed so fast, no problems.”

Delphine’s hand had risen to touch her mouth.  American scientists hidden in Paris, actually making antibiotics!  It was almost too good to be true.

“What makes them crazy?” she asked, looking closely at a shelf covered in sod that appeared to have tiny, fruiting buds on it.  “This is wonderful.  Can I meet them?”

“Crazy? Well, Americans, you know…” Claude made the pained face of a person whose judgments were simple trying to explain them.  “They’re not too bad, just odd, I guess.  Their French is not so good.  The woman is better, though very intense, very bossy.  I haven’t seen her around for a while, though.”  He shrugged.  

Delphine caught the undertone indicating that any woman smarter than him giving instructions might be seen as bossy.  She had made the right decision in appearing as guileless and nonthreatening as possible when she’d met these men.

“Ah, I see,” was all she said.  She looked at him hopefully, pleadingly.  He cleared his throat.

“Well, you might be able to meet him, but he’s gone back to his lab for the day, and I can’t take you there.  But I can see if he is interested, get a message to him, I guess.”

Delphine smiled again, a bit more spontaneously, this time, and thankfully.

“I would very much appreciate that,” she told him, and related what she wanted him to say.


	17. Chapter 17

She felt _so. Stupid._

The lack of information on Delphine had been getting to her.  It had taken time to get into Paris, and even then the obstacles were challenging.  There had been times they hadn’t slept, hiding all night.  There had been times they were sure they were about to be questioned, to be taken.  People looked at them suspiciously, police and German soldiers were everywhere, and more than once they had to show their faked papers and hold their breath until the forgeries proved convincing enough and they were allowed to move on.  

Cosima was persistent, she was intelligent, and she was persuasive.  But it wasn’t easy to figure out who was safe to speak with, and who would be willing to trust newcomers with mediocre skills in French, limited connections and a surprising amount of money to pass around.  Holding her tongue was not always easy for her, even for the purpose of self-preservation, but after some stops and starts, they were eventually able to rendez-vous with a message runner who had been working with a British agent before the agent had snuck his way into Belgium.  She was a bit suspicious of the runner, but he had finally been able to get them in with a group of resistance fighters.  Their boss, Pascal, had listened carefully and, after some checking, had agreed to allow them to work with his group, as long as they pulled their weight.

After sorting through other goals and knowledge, Cosima had been overjoyed when she found out the scuttlebutt that her Swan had escaped.  The story that she had been captured, tortured, and loaded on a train to a prison camp, however, was enough to incapacitate her for a full night.  She was both devastated and amazed, thinking of what Delphine must have suffered, and then processing the incredible news of her disappearance from the train under the guidance of a quick-witted journalist who had been aiding the cause.  And then there had been the news of how mercilessly von Leekie had punished both his own people and the other prisoners on the train…  She had trembled so assimilating this information that she sunk into Scott’s friendly hug when he offered it, the simple warmth of a human embrace grounding her enough to briefly stop her emotional spin.  When it came down to it, Scott was one of the most caring people she’d ever met, and a good friend.  

However, since then, Pascal and the others kept telling her that they couldn’t find where Delphine ended up.  There were almost no limits to what Cosima’s imagination could do with this lack of evidence.  Her… charge, the person who had been the reason Cosima had flung herself, not to mention Scott, into this potentially deadly mission, could be safe, knitting in a cottage in the country, she could be dead in the street, she could be halfway to China right now, and Cosima just didn’t know.

So she threw herself into helping the French as best she could, given her talents.  Once she discovered the lack of appropriate medicines, she used her knowledge in biology and chemistry to devise ways to begin getting them made, with Scott’s and a French professor’s help.  Pascal provided the space, hands and means to produce them, and soon they were contributing something good to the city.

But she was still restless.  She couldn’t find Delphine, she didn’t have contact with the SOE and she felt increasingly that she should be doing something, anything, to help the push against the Germans.  More and more, rebellion was breaking out in Paris.  There were work stoppages and transportation system strikes, sabotage and destruction of Nazi equipment and goods.  There wasn’t much actual battle — the French didn’t have enough weapons for that, and calmer heads dissuaded them from bringing a devastating payback from the Germans upon themselves, at least most of the time.  But the feel, the energy of the city was changing.  People knew the Allies were not far away, and it emboldened them.

So maybe her plan had been a little crazy.

She’d timed guard schedules exactly, of course.  She’d had some compatriots set a diversion.  She was as sneaky as she could be.  But still, they nearly got caught.

Of course, it was a brilliant idea, in theory. _Block the German’s radio transmissions via the Eiffel Tower,_ she’d proposed, _use the tower radio equipment to send out a message to the Allies._  Brilliant, but far too dangerous.

The thing was, they thought she’d failed.  Yes, she’d managed a disruption, but it was all too brief.  It wasn’t like suspicious activity could go on for long in such a busy, populated, central hub.  And when they’d been actually discovered, when they had to scatter in all directions, the others thought she had been unable to contact the Allies, that there hadn’t been time.

But she had.  She had spoken with an agent from the OSS.  And what she learned chilled her.

It turned out they had no plans to liberate the city soon.  Casualties and losses of equipment would be too high, would take too many resources and too much time away from their push eastward across Europe.  What was more, they predicted that Hitler would order the Germans to raze the city, kill the citizens, commit mass atrocities.  It wouldn’t be the first time he did it.  

So, the Allies would draw closer to the city, nearly to its edges.  And then they’d simply _go around it._

She’d been so stunned, so horrified, she nearly didn’t pull out in time.  She’d barely avoided capture.  It had been just her, running, then.  She’d had to ditch most of her equipment.  She didn’t know where the others had gone, and she’d need help if she was going to get back to the correct part of the catacombs or another base.  She’d stopped in an alleyway, clutching a stitch in her side as she got back her breath. She’d thought, _sure, it makes practical, military sense.  It may even be the wiser thing to do.  But the Parisians… all those people… they’d finally been feeling hope amidst their desperation.  And they’re about to get passed by, avoided… left in the hands of an increasingly anxious occupying army.  It just, it just…_

It just didn’t seem right.

She was lost.  Not just physically, as in she didn’t know where in the city she was, but she felt emotionally spent, motivationally adrift.  She felt like she could stand in that alleyway for the next hours, days, weeks, and it wouldn’t make a difference.  The only news she could bring Pascal and his friends would just make everything worse.  Unless she just kept lying, glossing over.  But she was having trouble imagining doing any of that, at that moment.

And what about the others?  She remembered the look of fear on Scott’s face when the guard’s light found them.  Jesus, what had she done?  What if any of them got caught?  What if it was _Scott?_

Her body made the decision to move while her mind finally took a rare, stress-induced break.  Perhaps the machinery of her brain, after going in overdrive for so long, simply needed to shut down.  She wandered.  And she ended up in a café, nursing a glass of wine.  And she overheard a voice, speaking with a very odd accent.  The accent of a Basque inflecting mediocre French with an already rough Spanish accent. Her brain switched back on.

She introduced herself.  His name was Garaile.  He was a friend of Gaizka’s.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're listening to the playlist, this chapter is up to "Le Chant des Partisans."

Danielle’s eyes were narrowed and thoughtful.  She took a moment to inhale and exhale a plume of smoke.

“Thank you for telling me, Delphine.  I knew about the food but had no word on the medicines, which must mean Pascal has actively been trying to keep this operation quiet.”  She turned to look at Luc, one of her steadiest and most trusted allies.  “There’s always some angle of power with him, some manipulation.  Make sure we’re well covered at the meeting tonight.”  Luc nodded, a gesture as good as a contract with him.  Danielle looked back at Delphine.

“I want you to come with us, Delphine.  I… previously I had been trying to protect you somewhat, knowing your experiences and potential visibility, but by bringing me this news of your own volition… I think it’s both fair and advantageous for you to be there when we meet with Col. Rol’s envoys.”

Delphine’s eyes widened.

“So, you are actually meeting with them tonight?  I would love to be there for that.   As you know, science, medicine, it’s so important to me and our cause.  I hate to think treatments that could save lives are being limited…”

She didn’t speak of the tiny, barely-glowing hope inside her, the one that she was trying not to recognize or admit, even to herself.  That these Americans might know a way to contact Cosima, her Dove.

“Yes, at nine o’clock, so you’d better get yourself something to eat before we go. And yes, that is something we will have to get to the bottom of.”

Delphine nodded and headed toward the Lafrange’s kitchen.

“And Delphine,” Danielle called, causing Delphine to turn and look at her from the doorway, “thank you.”

It wasn’t long before the three of them plus Jean-Marc, another associate of theirs, were on their way to the meeting place.  Even Delphine noticed subtle signals that were given, and spotted some allies of Danielle’s near them on the streets they walked.  Danielle had protection around them.  Delphine wondered how suspicious she should have been of other arms of the resistance all this time.  There was always the chance of a double agent, like — she winced at the thought of the name — Sabine.  But that she would also have to be cautious about disagreements and power plays within the resistance was sobering and disappointing.

They reached the small bar and nightclub — now reduced to more a place to meet quietly and drink cheap wine than for revelry — and Delphine noted the sign: Le Petit Chiot.  Inside, there were just a few people scattered about, mostly huddled over drinks and cigarettes.  The bartender looked up, saw Danielle, and nodded.  They proceeded to a door at the back, which led to a private room with more presentable furnishings.  

Claude and Bernard were there.  Claude found himself at the end of an elbow in the ribs and a withering look when he automatically raised his hand to dumbly wave at Delphine.

A taller man, broad and rugged, sat at a table near the middle of the room.  He was well-muscled, with a handsome face marred by a once-broken nose and a thick coat of beard stubble.  There was something both attractive and intimidating about him.  He half-rose and indicated the seat across from him.

“Danielle,” he said, his voice deep.  His eyes moved to take in Delphine and he rose to his full height.  “And mademoiselle…?”

“Cut the crap, Pascal, I’m sure you know who she is,” Danielle said as she sat, her face and voice, despite her words, teasing and light.  “Or have too many of your little birds flown away?”

Pascal’s face twisted into half-smile.

“You’re always so clever, Danielle.  And, yes, Mademoiselle Cormier, enchantée.  I’ve heard you have been blossoming into the Florence Nightingale of Paris.” He took her hand and kissed it.

Delphine felt her cheeks flush slightly in spite of herself.  In reality, she felt more distrusting of the man than charmed, but she could see how his charisma had called other men to serve him.  She caught the slightest roll of Danielle’s eyes out of her peripheral vision.

“So, what’s on the table today,” Danielle prompted, getting down to business.  “News of what the Germans are planning from your sector?  Food distribution?  Thoughts on when the Allies might arrive?”

Delphine stepped back to the loose circle of people not sitting at the table as Pascal seated himself.

“The Germans have built formidable defenses around the perimeter of city,” he stated, matter-of-factly.  ”They know things aren’t going their way and many are pulling out, but we can’t trust the Americans to listen to De Gaulle’s ramblings and press into the city now.  It would cost them too much.  We’ve amassed good supplies of food and sufficient weapons for us to make a strong move to liberate the city ourselves, as the French people of Paris.”

Delphine chewed on her lip.  She had heard small bits of information, rumours that the Germans were on their last legs in France, besieged at all sides, stories of rebelling resistance fighters taking control of the police prefecture.  There were even whispers that Hitler had ordered the complete destruction of the City of Light, an order which was being postponed and held off by General von Choltitz, the German military commander of Paris, after being convinced by the mayor of Paris, who was a known collaborationist, not to reduce this city of historic importance and beauty to rubble.  All of these ideas raised hope in her mind, but, in her position, she had little evidence, and didn’t know what to believe.  What was more, Parisians who resisted were also still being captured and shot down by the occupying Nazis.  As brave as she was, she didn’t want her unlikely escape from death to be for nothing but a slightly later death due to being too rash and visible to the Germans.  Her nearly-healed wounds ached just thinking about it.

This man Pascal spoke gruffly, but assuredly.  He may have knowledge Danielle didn’t have, or he may just have different opinions.  No matter what, Delphine was set on standing by her friend.

Danielle raised an eyebrow and settled back in her chair.  She seemed serious, but unimpressed.

“Pascal, even you must know that the arms you have couldn’t possibly last against an entrenched German force.  It would just get more citizens killed.  Meanwhile, the Free French are taking positions where they count, in government offices.  And don’t forget, LeClerc is a man of action,” she pointed a finger at him, almost scolding, while referring to the General in command of Free French 2nd division that was working with the Allies.  “You know how he fought in Africa.  I have little doubt he will move his division toward Paris at the earliest opportunity.”

Pascal chuckled humourlessly.

“Oh, yes?  His reputation is so low among the Americans, they’ll allow him nothing.  Not to mention there’s no way they’ll allow a group with so many nationalities and men of dark skin be the liberators of Paris.  They’ll want that honour all to themselves, whenever they finally feel they have time to do it.  Better to stand up for ourselves.  In times like these, all citizens are soldiers.”

They stared at each other for a moment.  Danielle sighed.

“Well, you know I disagree with you as you with me.  I’m not urging any of my people to violently rebel just yet.  The odds are too bad.  Maybe, as you say, they will change.  And we will talk about it again. But in the meantime, I think there are some pressing local matters we could discuss, such as your success moving food to the districts, not to mention other useful supplies.  I firmly believe this is something we could all benefit from working on together.”

“Hm,” Pascal answered coolly, “Certain things are better handled by smaller forces.  However, in view of how Dr. Lafrange and your other friends have been providing good aid to the sick and wounded, we may be able to include you in distributing some newly-sourced antibiotics, under our guidance and all in good faith, of course.”

“Yes, I was wondering about those antibiotics—“ Danielle began, but was interrupted by some raised voices outside the door.  The whole group turned their attention to the portal, several of them putting their hands on weapons concealed on their bodies.  Delphine froze, hand clutching a chair beside her.  Her body tensed, willing her to run if necessary.

The voices quieted, although they were still sharp.  Then, there was a sudden sequence of knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Pascal called, his voice powerful.  The door opened.

A tall, gawky young man in glasses came stumbling in, sweating and breathing heavily.  His eyes took in the group and widened, frightened, but as they saw him, Pascal’s men seemed less than threatened.  He took a step toward Pascal.

“I… you didn’t tell me about the meeting,” he wheezed.  He looked as though he had run some distance to get there.  “We’ve got to talk… about the medicine, about getting information…”

His French was poor and he was not at all intimidating, but he seemed determined.   _His accent sounds American_ , Delphine thought, her body straightening, ears attuned.  Could he be one of the scientists?

Pascal scowled at the man, but his voice remained level.

“Monsieur Smith, we’re in the middle of some important talks, and I was just about to get into the subjects you mention, but I don’t really need your input at this time.  Wouldn’t you better…”

Smith actually interrupted him.

“I wouldn’t better _anything_.  We’ve, we’re making these medicines for a reason, and… and, I’m sorry, but if there’s any chance we can get any word on—“

Pascal’s voice came back at him, clearly annoyed now.

“Monsieur Smith, Scott, I assure you that these things are being discussed, but this is not the place and time for you to participate right now.”

Danielle had turned in her chair to see Scott, and she reached out to him, prompting him to take another, unsure step forward as she took his hand.  Her shrewdness was just perceptible under a gentle expression.

“Monsieur Smith, I’m Danielle Fournier.  How do you do.  If you are working with medicines I’m sure my friend Delphine and one of our associates would be happy to discuss it with you in the other room — perhaps over a drink? — while Pascal and I finish here.”

“Delphine…?” Scott asked, seemingly stopped in his mental tracks.  He scanned the room, turning his head until his gaze landed on Delphine, who took a small step forward.

“Hello, Mr. Smith.  I’m Delphine—“

His look became incredulous as he took in her chopped brown hair, the glasses, the wounds, and then recognized the face underneath from the photographs in her file.

“ _Delphine?_ Delphine _Cormier?_  I… I-I’m Scott,” he stuttered.  “Scott?  I worked with the Dove.   _Cosima_.”

Delphine’s mouth dropped open.  She hadn’t realized her knees were giving out until Danielle’s guard beside her caught her at the waist. She straightened up, but couldn’t seem to get a word out.

Danielle’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“It seems you two may know each other.  Perhaps you have important things to discuss, too.  Jean-Marc, please be a dear and escort these two to a comfortable area to sit, have a drink, and talk in?  And please remain close.  I want their safety assured.”

Jean-Luc nodded and took Delphine’s arm, quickly guiding her to the door.  Pascal, eyes narrowed, made a gesture at one of his men, who walked up to Scott and put his hand on his shoulder, guiding him out the door and staying with him, closing it behind them.  There was a moment of quiet.

“Well,” Danielle said, turning back to meet Pascal’s gaze, “isn’t this interesting?”

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're following along with the playlist at theswanandthedove[.]blogspot[.]com, we're up to Dramatic TV Playhouse Series No. 5.

Garaile peered over the low wall surrounding the roof.  All seemed reasonably quiet.  From the ground, one of his compatriots glanced up, took off his hat and scratched his head — the signal for “all’s clear.”  Garaile turned back around and heard the flutter and cooing of pigeons, once again, along with the quiet taps of dust and small bits of stone bouncing off the ledges.   _Stupid pigeons, making so much noise,_ he thought.  Perhaps the traditional tales of bats living in belfries would have been more welcome.  Not that anyone wanted to get rabies, but at least bats were nearly silent when disturbed.

There was a muffled cooing in a different tone, and he peered upward toward the top of the tower.  The American was doing it again.  He had to admit, it did seem to calm the birds down.  His lips took a wry twist as he once again contemplated how desperate times seemed to call for odd and unlikely measures.

Another bit of debris was jostled from above – this one a bit bigger.  It must have come from the inside of the roof, because it hit with a low _ping_ against one of the bells.  Garaile winced.  It was unlikely to be loud enough to hear below, but a larger stone could be a problem.  He couldn’t tell who was dislodging them, but the American seemed a bit clumsy, hardly trained for this sort of endeavour.  Unfortunately, while his friend Sebastien was a construction worker and a very good climber, he didn’t know a thing about stringing antennae.

Up near the metal cross, boots shuffled and slipped against loose roofing.  The two people at the top were nearly invisible in the shadows of the structure and against the night sky, but their situation was precarious.  The one nearest the top was securing a wire to the cross itself, while the smaller figure just below him whispered guidance and made sure the wire unspooled smoothly and didn’t get blown out at an angle that would make it too noticeable from the street.  The wind stiffened a bit, and the lower person began twisting a bit on the rope.

“Oh, _fff_ …” came in a harsh hiss from the American. Her right hand flailed a bit, trying to reach one of the arch supports.  Her fingertips caught it, and she twisted suddenly in the other direction before she stabilized herself, heart pounding.

“Mademoiselle Niehaus?” Sebastien called softly from above, and, after a moment, she responded.

“I’m good, it’s all… good,” she reassured him.  “Just a bit windy up here.”

“Hm,” he responded, and she felt a small tug as he checked her line.  She took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

“Okay.  Okay,” she murmured to herself, then raised her chin to look up at him again.  “Just, uh… just secure it at the bottom the same way.” She almost smirked.  The irony of using a prominent religious symbol as part of a scientific endeavour did not escape her.  She imagined people in the church below channeling prayers to their God in the sky up through the roof, compared to her using the bell tower to send electric signals to float sound waves miles away blindly to some unknown listener.  What was it Gaizka had said when they had been pinned down, the ambulance barely hidden in some stunted clump of trees while a German transport convoy rolled by, the soldiers taking potshots at anything that moved?  Her eyes had closed in relief as she let her breath out after they passed.

_“I almost said a prayer for a minute there,”_ she had mumbled, _“and I don’t even believe in God.”_

He had looked at her appraisingly from the stretcher, pale from blood loss, pain, and illness.

_“This is war.  There are no atheists in the trenches, Cosima,”_ he told her, his voice clear despite his weakness, and using her first name for perhaps the only time.

She wasn’t sure she agreed with him, but more and more, the random and senseless violence that had been leaving lifeless bodies around the world weighed on her.  She channeled it into pushing toward goals, trying to be helpful, in her own way.  But sometimes, like, for example, tonight, when her gaze turned upward for a moment to see the clouds scudding past the moon and stars, making her feel as though she was moving alongside the moon, illustrating the motion of life, the rotation of the Earth, and the endless spread of the stars into the distance of space, when the order of it all, the universe, and the unlikely path of occurrences and evolution that led to humans being on the planet, to being able to think, to discover and invent, to question their own existence and even blow each other up, seemed so amazing and orderly that… that what?  Some things felt inevitable?  Destined?  Certainly, not… planned?

But what was our universe if not a miracle?  Wasn’t that as good a definition of a miracle as anything else?  And if that could develop, what other near-impossible things might happen, might be hoped for?

She looked back at the wall before her when the motion of the clouds suddenly began to make her dizzy, and brought her thoughts back to her present situation.  Sebastien was doing as she told him.  God or not, she was imagining an alternate reality where she’d never had to join him at these dizzying heights above Paris.  Hadn’t the parachuting been enough?  And there was something even more unnerving about this, somehow.  In the previous situation, there wasn’t much she could do once she’d jumped.  Whether she made it was mostly up to fate… or statistical likelihood.  Here, she had to count on her strength and her balance, as well as Sebastien’s knots, and seeing the strongly raked roof below, then the levels of the apse further down, before finally down to the ground, seemed more real and solid than the dreamlike splay of the dark and fogged land, splashed with unworldly flashes and flames of anti-aircraft fire and tracers, so distantly below her that it seemed almost theoretical, when she was floating down suspended by fabric and air.

She was not okay with this.

But you did what you had to do.

The descent back to the roof was slower than she would have liked, but they had to recheck how they had laid and attached the wires, while drawing as little attention to themselves as possible.  The whole trip took less than an hour, but felt like most of the night.  Cosima breathed a sigh of relief when her feet touched solid ground, and once again thanked the heavens — or whomever — that the sky had been clear of potentially lightning-generating storm clouds that evening.

They huddled around the wireless as she adjusted it, skimming over radio broadcasts rife with propaganda from both sides, and scanning the frequencies most likely to carry what they sought from memory.  She wasn’t even sure if the protocols the Allies had set up before the invasion would still be at all in place, and sweat beaded on her brow.  More than once they caught snippets of French voices, and listened intently only to find them about other business than what they sought.  Then, Garaile held up a hand.

The voice on the transmission was marred by static, but they could just make out the altered consonants and vowels that indicated French inflected with a Spanish accent.  Garaile grabbed the microphone and fired off a question.

_“¿Estoy hablando con un hombre de campo?”_

There was a pause.  The voice responded in French.

“Please repeat.  Identify yourself.”

“Second division?  This is Garaile Ochoa in Paris.   _Ari naiz herrikide batekin?_ ”

There was another pause.  It stretched.

“Ninth company responding.   _Hombre de campo_ , please give your location.”

A smile broke out across Garaile’s face.

“Hello, ninth company.  We’re in Paris.  Georges Bidault sends his regards.  Please hold for passwords from an agent from the U.S. Office of Strategic Services to confirm.”

Cosima took the mic.  She felt buoyed, and proud that her calculations for reaching the military had worked.  Perhaps Paris wasn’t going to be left to fend for itself, after all.

“Hi, there. This is OSS call sign 324B21 checking in.  I’m here with some friends from the _Liberté_ group of the Free French, and we want to help you from our end.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greeting, friends! Thank you for reading. If you're following the playlist at http://theswanandthedove.blogspot.com, the tracks for this chapter are I'm Making Believe (It's You,) Oh, What A Beautiful Morning, and the bells of Notre Dame.
> 
> If you're interested in seeing real footage of the liberation of Paris, check out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lq6JLssWTiM and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CT0veINR5g0. Warning: war footage, contains violence.

 

 

It felt impossible to sleep.

Delphine's conversation with Scott Smith kept replaying in her head, and leading to shock, concern and unending questions.

They both knew the men who'd come with them were listening and would report everything they said to Danielle and Pascal. Perhaps when they switched to English to save Scott his fumbling in French it might have thrown the eavesdroppers off, but at that point, neither of them cared much either way. They just needed to communicate, to commiserate, and to prove to each other that their meeting was real, that the unlikely twists of fate that had brought them together were not some elaborate dream for both of them.

Mostly, they talked about Cosima.

That this young man who worked with the Dove, whom she had heard briefly about and in the background during her conversations with her confidante over the aether, was here in front of her threw her emotions and thoughts that had only recently and tentatively been stabilized into the sort of chaos that her brain had to resort to both an overlay of numbed incredulity that made her feel out-of-body, like an observer of herself in a dream, and a simultaneous, weighted, slow-motion observation of the very real details of the moment, to process. She found herself gripping his hand over the table. It was solid, male, with long fingers lacking callouses and succumbing to a slight tremble now and then. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, conveying his own disbelief, amazement and background panic. His lips, thin, drawn downward in worried lines, told her, briefly, of how the Americans had come to be there: Cosima's sudden, passionate determination to find and rescue Delphine, one unlike he'd ever seen before from his friend, no matter how idealistic and driven she could be; their frantic, death-defying journey by plane, parachute, foot and truck; their falling in with Pascal's group, frustration at getting no information about Delphine's whereabouts and condition, and decision to use their time to help the resistance — or, at least, the fraction of it they'd been able to mingle with — by employing their scientific skills. He had to repeat things several times when Delphine couldn't absorb them, and when she told him of the events in her life since before the invasion, his mouth dropped open, his own brain clearly struggling to take in the span of her fortune, triumphs and pain.

All that was whirling in her mind, dizzying like a carnival ride, while the most heart-stopping part, the part that turned the amusement ride into a nauseating drop into fear, was the one that tied her spirit into sleepless knots.

Cosima was missing.

That they had been so close to one another, so close to meeting, only for Cosima to embark on what seemed to be a desperate, brave, and foolhardy mission of her own design — at  _la tour d'Effiel_ , with its unmitigated visibility and swarms of Nazi soldiers,  _mon dieu!_  — and then disappear, possibly captured, wounded or killed… Delphine could barely comprehend it. To all at once have the joy of knowing her…  _friend? Reassuring, understanding anchor in the abyss?_  … was both near and had fought so hard to find her, and to have the bottom drop out with the news that this person who had somehow taken such an important place in her thoughts, inextricable from feeling human connection and hope, was simply…  _gone_ , was almost more than she could take.

But she had to. She had to try to move forward, to keep some faith. Because, despite all odds and reason, Cosima had committed to finding and helping her. And now Delphine had to do the same for her.

Danielle had been furious, livid, when she learned the story. How this American agent working through the British had kept Delphine going when things became almost too much to bear, how she trekked across the channel and France while Delphine stoked the memory of their conversations to give herself solace and faith in humanity, and how Pascal's cadre of Col. Rol's followers had kept the Americans to themselves, withholding information, using them not just as help for the cause, but as chips in a game of power internal to the resistance. It was not just an offense to the idea of a unified Parisian community fighting to oust the Nazis, but to the basic civility of respecting human feelings. These things had to be done sometimes, but Danielle didn't feel this was the case here. And, to top it all off, they had done this to Delphine, her close friend, who had suffered more than most of them could even dream about in their fantasies of revolutionary heroism.

"You know, I was certain I was going to die. But then I met you," Delphine had told the journalist, "and there was something in your voice, in your understanding and courage even in the darkness of that cattle car, that reassured me, that reminded me of her, somehow. If it weren't for her, and then you, I don't think I would be alive now."

Danielle had sworn that she would spread the word to all she knew who could be trusted to look for this woman, Cosima, " _The Dove,"_ to find out if she was still alive, in Paris, if there was some way she could be helped.

And then, gunshots in the night.

The resistance and the occupying Nazis had briefly seemed to have an uneasy truce. General von Choltitz, via a Swedish diplomat sympathetic to the French, had talks with the Gaullists, the faction of the resistance that supported General de Gaulle and to which Danielle was allied. For a brief, shining moment, it seemed that the Germans might be willing to consider a peaceful retreat, a surrender to the Allied military forces, if not any of the subsets of resistance fighters in particular — all of whom could benefit politically by claiming they were the ones the Nazis had given into, and thus should make up France's new government replacing the Vichy regime. Perhaps, with certain conditions met, the occupiers would even spare the citizens of the city further death and destruction. But the group of communists that Colonel Rol influenced would not accept the terms. They said that only "true Parisians," not outside forces, should be the victors who went down in history as the ones who freed Paris, and it was clear that they thought themselves the truest of all the Parisians in the resistance.

They made it even clearer by defying the tentative peace and continuing to sabotage and attack the Germans. It was a fight they couldn't win without much more bloodshed, if ever, without military aid. But the war, like any war, was never really fought for the sake of spared lives and safety — only power.

So fights erupted, here and there, some spontaneous, some deliberately provoked, in the streets of Paris. Danielle and her allies were in a position both threatened by the Nazis and the opposing groups in the resistance. It was hard to tell who to trust, and the shooting at German targets had spurred the occupiers to lash back and dig in. Soldiers were killed, as were civilians. Despite the military might of the Americans being so close, they had not advanced to come to the rescue, and it seemed as though the Parisians might suffer this tense and deadly situation for an unknowable amount of time.

So Delphine tossed and turned. She thought of the proximity of the promise of freedom, and the relentless infighting and greed that kept the French in fear, at risk, even as the Germans finally seemed to be losing hold of their territories. But those thoughts became background noise, illustrative of only one thing: how close she had come to seeing Cosima in the flesh, as a real person, and how, like the truce, that possibility had been deferred, perhaps even destroyed, when bullets had once again broken the peace.

She heard shots out on the street again, and cowered, rolled into a ball in her bed, clutching her stomach and trying not to despair, when a knock came at her door.

"Delphine?"

It was Scott. He had been rooming in the attic since leaving the bar with Danielle and her cohort, a move that was not taken lightly by Pascal, but couldn't be stopped without further escalation between the rival groups at that time. His voice was soft, hesitant.

"Yes, Scott, come in," she answered, propping herself up on the pillows. He slipped into the room and took a seat in the chair by her bed.

They both sat silently for a moment, as a shout was heard in the distance, followed by the  _pop_  of another gun firing.

Scott sighed.

"I figured you couldn't sleep, either. You've been looking tired for days, too. Did Danielle give you any hint of where she was going?"

"No, she was in a rush. I'm worried." She bit her lip and looked down, mumbling, "I'm always worried."

Scott nodded.

"I know, I always wish I could just… do something to help, you know?"

"Yes, one hundred percent," she answered. They were both stir-crazy, shut inside for several days, while Danielle had them protected and went out to tend to resistance doings. There had even been an argument when Delphine had insisted she had to at least get out to tend the sick and the wounded, and Danielle had denied her, asking her to wait just a little while more until an agreement could be reached with Rol's people. Delphine nearly stormed out anyway, but Dr. Lafrange had gently taken her arm.

"There will be more injured brought in here, to us," he had said, "I will need you, more than ever, as my nurse."

So she acquiesced. But her patience with being protected was wearing tissue-paper thin. When she had first escaped the prison train, injured, she had been grateful for the modicum of safety and rest these kind people had offered her, but, as from the start, when she had decided to take action and spy on the Germans with little help, she was not the type of woman who could ever feel complete sitting by while innocents suffered. In different circumstances, this might have made her a great doctor. As things were, however, sometimes she felt Danielle kept her isolated simply because her friend had too much to think about and do without worrying what kind of trouble Delphine might get into. It was a denial stemming from both strategy and a kind instinct of guarding the ones you care for, but no matter the motivation, it made Delphine even more restless, trapped with nothing to do but think about Cosima, and the war, and feel helpless.

She took Scott's hand again. He was a gentle soul, unswervingly loyal, but his heart was not as fierce as hers, as Cosima's, she thought, in having to take action. Without his agent friend or someone in authority to spur him on, he might falter. In this case, the only authority worth listening to was Danielle, and though he also wished to help somehow, being an outsider with little knowledge of the lay of the land surely made him feel even less free to act. She remembered how Cosima would prompt her to think about something good when she felt as though she would surely break soon.

"Tell me about your home town," she said.

His eyebrows raised a bit, but he gathered his thoughts.

"Well, it's not much of a town. We're out in Iowa, and that's farm country, where we grow corn. We've got one main street, in fact. It's usually pretty quiet there and everybody knows everybody. I've always been thought a little weird, I guess, maybe too smart. But then I started doing really well at the county fair… I was in 4-H club, you know? Where we study and try to be innovative with agriculture? I was in the Scouts, too, until the other stuff took up most of my time. Anyway, I did some hybridization of corn and raised some really happy, productive cows, so before long I got some respect, especially when I got a scholarship to college."

He looked at Delphine, and she smiled slightly to show she was listening. This was the most she'd ever heard him say at once, and she wanted to encourage him to share, to remember times when war was what had happened to an older generation, a distant nightmare from early childhood, not fully comprehended, and thus easily forgotten.

"Did you like it there, or did you want to get out? What was it like?"

He pointed his gaze downward, thinking.

"Well, I got teased a bit, and I was really excited when I went off to college, but… yeah, when I was a kid, it was a beautiful place to grow up. A bit boring to some, maybe, but I miss the land, the broad sky, sometimes, you know? Working in a lab and then the agency… these were dreams for me, and I wouldn't have done anything else. But, you know, at twilight, when the cows are lowing, settling down to their nightly meal, and all you can see is fields, rows of corn, mostly, and pastures… and the colours from the setting sun stretch for miles, all around you, the stars twinkling in. There's a dog barking in the distance, Mr. Graham's sheltie, who keeps the sheep in line, and their farmhouse in the little valley's got a few lamps on in the windows. You can smell dinner cooking, beef and gravy, cornbread, and just see the top of the church tower off in town, the cross catching the light and reflecting it back in gold. If it's warm enough, the crickets start chirping, but other than that it's quiet, cozy, just the shuffling of the cattle and the stalks bending in the breeze…"

He trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Quiet.

He squeezed her hand, sitting up straighter.

"Delphine, did you hear that?"

She looked at him, puzzled.

"I was listening to you, Scott, and imagining. But… now that you mention it, it's been quiet for a little while, now." She squeezed his hand back. "There's no gunfire."

"Yeah, but…" he seemed to be straining his ears, face turned toward the window.

Far off, there was a distant  _bong._

Delphine's eyebrows pulled together in puzzled frown.  _Bong._ There it was again.

And then it came closer, louder, in a higher tone. A peal, extended, a pause, and then more notes, building in rhythm.

Someone was ringing the church bells.

They sat there, transfixed, as the sounds continued, and then grew, multiplied. Other bells were joining in, near and distant, single tones and phrases of melodies. There was a shout out on the street. They both suddenly rushed to the window, braving pulling open the curtains to look out.

There were people running, wandering, jumping in the darkness.

Scott and Delphine looked at each other. The bells were vibrating in their ears. Then, suddenly, they felt the window sill vibrating slightly, too.

That's when they heard the outside door slap open, and the sound of feet running up the stairway, right for them. They both recoiled, shocked, as the bedroom door flew open. It was Danielle.

"The Germans are surrendering! The French army is here! Come outside!"


	21. Chapter 21

“It took you guys long enough,” Cosima joked to the radio man, as he smiled down at her from the halftrack.

“The citizens are excited,” he replied, in his Spanish-accented French.  “They wouldn’t let us pass right away.  Plus we had a little meeting to attend to.”

His commanding officer looked down at her, his hat sitting at a rakish angle, a small smile playing about his lips beneath his aquiline nose.

“Agent Niehaus, is it?”

She gave him a charmingly exaggerated salute.

“Yep, that’s me,” her smile was growing by the minute.

“I’m Amado Granell.  I want to thank you and Ochoa — is that him over there? — and the rest for wiring us secure routes.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I mean, the pleasure is all mine, ours.”

Amado turned to a soldier beside him.

“ _Aspirant_ Aboroa, please ask Ochoa to join us.  And Miss Niehaus,” he turned back and held out his hand, leaning down.  She took it and shook it firmly.  He let go and turned to the radio man, nodding his head sideways down at Cosima.

“Velazquez? Get this woman a seat with Campos.”

The radio man grinned and made a quick exchange over his portable wireless in Spanish.  He nodded at Cosima.

“Next halftrack coming,” he told her.  “You might get a different greeting from them.  They encountered a little gunfire from some Nazi holdouts earlier.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Granell, ordered, patting top of the roofless windshield.  “We’ve got business to do.”

Cosima watched as they drove off, turning toward the government offices.  In a few moments, another halftrack pulled up to her.  One side was draped with the French flag and the other was sporting the Spanish tricolour.  A bushy-eyebrowed Spaniard beamed down at her, extending his hand.

“¿Senorita?” he encouraged.

Cosima took it, and raised her leg to push up on the running board as he pulled her up to climb into the vehicle.


	22. Chapter 22

In the persimmon glow of the rising sun, Delphine, Scott, Danielle and their group jogged through the streets from the Lafrange’s house.  The clamour was increasing as they reached the boulevard.  Groups of Parisian resistance fighters had formed a loose line of control, leaving just enough space in the crowds for vehicles to drive through. A halftrack drove by.   _Madrid,_ read its name painted on the thick, metal grille plates.  People around them were laughing, crying, dancing or standing still in amazement.  Delphine felt her heart flutter, a wetness on her cheeks as silent tears she barely noticed flowed down them.  Danielle grabbed and embraced her, her voice hoarse with emotion as she spoke in her friend’s ear.

“Freedom, Delphine,” she husked.  “Paris is free.”

The journalist pulled back and gave her a brief, but steady look with a tender smile, and squeezed her shoulders.  Then she was off, running over to a group of resistance fighters who were talking with an army officer.

The rumbling of heavy vehicles that had shaken their windowsill was still coming.  Scott had one hand in his hair, clutching, his jaw open in disbelief.  His other hand sought out hers, and they both squeezed.

“I… I can’t —“ he began, and then his eyes widened, his breath cut off.

“Scott?”

His hand fell from hers, and he took a shaky step forward.  He was looking down the street, where a halftrack was approaching.   _Ebro_ was emblazoned on its grille.

“C— Cosima?” Scott stuttered, his expression stunned.  

Delphine turned again to look at the halftrack.  It was pulling closer, nearly to them, and she could make out the head and shoulders of a small woman leaning out the side.  The vehicle passed a break between buildings where the sun rays broke through, and her face was illuminated.  Deep brown hair in a pompadour with a bun, topped crookedly by one of the soldier’s French army hats, dark, sparkling eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and a smile, a smile so bright and infectious, it was like sunlight radiating into Delphine’s heart.

“Cosima!” Scott bellowed, and he ran up to the truck.

Delphine watched, frozen to her spot, as the two Americans locked gazes.

“Scott!” the woman blurted out in an elated yelp.  She quickly flung herself over the side of the halftrack, one of the soldiers grabbing her arm and adjusting her descent to move her further from the rolling tracks of the still-moving lorry.  She hit the ground with a small stumble, and then Scott was hugging her, picking her up, swinging her around, and she was laughing, loudly, freely, the sound so full of music and delight than Delphine found herself clutching her hands to her own chest.

“Whoa!  Heyyy… Scott,” Cosima half-protested.

“I thought you were dead,” Scott was mumbling into the small woman’s shoulder as he put her down.  “I thought you were dead.”

They stood there for a moment, arms around each other, leaning back a bit to smile into each other’s faces.  She patted his shoulder.

“I’m happy, so happy to see you too, buddy,” she said, and then her smile tilted into a mischievous grin.  “I think you just gave me more vertigo than I got jumping out of a plane, though.”

He grinned back, huffing out a little awkward laugh, Scott-style, and then quieted, giving her a look that made her cock her head.

“There’s someone here you have to meet.”

_Oh mon dieu, mon_ Dieu, flashed through Delphine’s mind.  She was spellbound, overloaded, trying to take it all in.  She couldn’t move as Scott took his buddy’s hand and gently guided her through the crowd and toward the spot where Delphine was rooted.  Even in confusion, the open sweetness and intelligence in the American woman’s face was a delight.  Delphine couldn’t ever have imagined what she would look like in person, but at the same time she completely knew and recognized her.  She looked something like Danielle, yes, just as their voices were similar.  But there was something about the woman approaching her that was so vibrant, so utterly individual…

Cosima was still looking up at Scott’s face in puzzlement when he finally stopped.

“Cosima,” he said softly, “this is Delphine.”

Even as the American woman turned her head, it was clear what was happening was not fully within her comprehension.  She paused, trying to focus and take in the woman before her.  At first Delphine thought maybe she didn’t recognize her from the file photos, as she had changed and been through so much since they were taken.  Surely the damage she’d endured made her appear a shell of her former self, Delphine realized, although she had never let it bother her before, assuring herself that the rougher she looked, the less likely she would be noticed.   But as Cosima’s look shifted into a gape and then softened, she realized that wasn’t it.  Cosima recognized her.  It just took her a moment to understand the Swan was real.

“Cosima?” Delphine felt herself barely whisper, hands falling to the front of her skirt.

And then the smaller woman was rushing toward her, and then holding her in an embrace tight, so tight, and warm, squeezing and exclaiming shakily,

‘Oh my God, oh my God, _Delphine_ …”

Part of Delphine was still vibrating in disorientation.  Here was the woman, the physical manifestation of the voice that had become her friend, that had lodged and carried on encouraging her in her head even in her darkest moments, when in reality reaching each other was impossible.  She was a stranger.  She was a defined human being whom she might have shaken hands with, or at the most kissed cheeks had they met before the war, and yet, here she was, fully pressed against her, and Delphine’s arms rose to squeeze her back.  It didn’t matter.  Propriety and getting-to-know-yous didn’t matter, because of all they’d been through separately, yet united in spirit, and the magnetic pull that drew them together, against all odds.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, holding each other, but eventually Cosima leaned back a bit and looked at her.  Brown eyes — no, hazel, up close, just with more brown than her own —  took in her hair, her face, her trembling smile, and one hand came up gently, so softly, to barely trace the scar now running from the back of her ear to her neck.

“You look beautiful,” Cosima told her, simply and sincerely.  “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Delphine let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, her smile spreading, becoming full and real.  She tipped her head down and leaned her forehead against the shorter woman’s, only noticing then that the hat must have fallen off.

“You’re beautiful,” she responded, “I’m so glad.”  Her body felt grounded, relaxed, as if she was suddenly exactly where she was supposed to be, with all the time in the world.

Cosima shifted back again, still holding Delphine’s upper arms.  She looked at Scott, who had been casually looking away as if giving them their privacy, and he turned to meet her gaze and smile.  Cosima turned back to the woman before her.

“So, what do you want to do,” she asked her, in that voice full of sunlight and low teasing.  “Do you want to continue on with the party, or do you want to go someplace and talk?”

Delphine slowly looked about her, bringing her attention to where they were.  Many of the vehicles and troops and had passed, but a few were still coming, receiving elated kisses, flowers, presents and drinks of wine from her celebrating countrymen and women.  She wanted to run into the sweep of it, let their happiness, their freedom wash over her and swirl her away through laughter and delight, relief and triumph.  She wanted to be pulled into eddies of wine and song, embraced by her brothers and sisters in arms, to see the smiles of French children with no fear to hold them back.  She even wanted to see the trucks, the prison vehicles carrying the captured and surrendered Germans, wanted to look at their faces as they were carried and marched, defeated, exhausted, the brash men they tried to be swallowed up by the quiet boys inside them, uniforms sullied, pride taken a fall, and maybe, perhaps, a bit of relief there, too, in some of them.  

She also wanted to look only at Cosima, to take her in, to talk with her, to get to know everything, _everything_ about her.  To explore this feeling they had, this unlikely bond that had pulled them together across miles and through war, to finally meet and, somehow, feel at home.  She chewed her lip.

She reached down and firmly grasped one of Cosima’s hands between her own.

“I want to see this, I want to see liberation, history in the making, I want to celebrate,” she told the small brunette, taking in her continued grin.  “But also, there is no way I am letting go of you.”  Her fingers tightened, emphasizing her hold on Cosima’s hand, and the American laughed again.   _That laugh._  Cosima’s head turned again for a moment and her hand reached out to take Scott’s arm.

“C’mon, Scott,” she tugged at him, her gaze returning to Delphine’s.  “We’ve got history to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're following the playlist, the song for the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next is Vous Êtes Jolie. :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! At last, our girls are together! The playlist selections for this chapter are Charles de Gaulle's "Paris Martyred" speech and the tango called "Tears." Please feel free to let me know how you think the story is going and/or what you think of the playlist. :)

The trio wandered where the movement of the crowds and their interests took them.  Twice they found themselves surprised by gunfire, pockets of Germans that had not given up.  They, like the rest of the civilians, crouched behind walls and cars while the resistance fighters with guns shot back and the French soldiers used their turret and machine guns to take the threat down.  They were lucky, for no-one close around them was seriously hurt.  Not all were so lucky.  More than once they saw small groups of men and women carrying the flag of the red cross and bearing wounded away.

Parisians were usually fairly controlled about expressing their feelings in public, and although some were still obviously on guard and others met the liberating soldiers with standard handshakes and smiles, others were moved to act further on their emotions.  More than once, Cosima, Delphine and Scott saw soldiers and French women, apparently complete strangers, kissing.  On a side street, a small group of young men were destroying an abandoned German truck, smashing the glass with bricks, kicking and beating the metal and screaming in release.  One of them painted the symbol of the Free French in white on the back of the truck, and crossed it with a V for victory.  Delphine worriedly pulled on Cosima’s arm when she started to step closer, but when the youths were able to rip one of the doors off the cab, Cosima promptly scooted back away and left the street with her friends.  

In the afternoon, they heard that von Choltitz had signed the papers of capitulation over to General LeClerc, and cheering roared through the crowd.  They were swept along with the human tide, and in the evening found themselves at l'Hôtel de Ville, where the tall, emphatic General de Gaulle gave an impassioned speech.

“These are minutes which go beyond each of our poor lives,” he shouted. “Paris! Paris outraged! Paris broken! Paris martyred! But Paris liberated! Liberated by itself, liberated by its people with the help of the French armies, with the support and the help of all France, of the France that fights, of the only France, of the real France, of the eternal France!”

Delphine took Cosima’s arm, tears in her eyes, and the smaller woman grinned.  She turned to Scott with a bit of a smirk while the speech continued.

“Oh, the Americans are gonna love that.  Paris completely freed by the French, all by themselves.”

“Shh!” Delphine hissed, elbowing her.  “Give us our moment.  You should know how hard we fought.”

Cosima stroked the Frenchwoman’s arm, contrite.

“I know.  I think you… and the resistance, are amazing.  And my country’s army wasn’t about to head through the city.  I just meant that there are always different viewpoints from the simple speeches, and the Allies might not be too thrilled.”

“They’ll understand,” Scott interjected.  “De Gaulle wants to be the President, right?  Him saying all this stuff just shows that he’s part of the group that freed Paris, the group in power.”

Cosima looked up, impressed, at her friend.

“Well, look at you, Scotty-boy, breaking out the political analysis.  I believe you’re right.”

“Shh,” Delphine chided them again, and they witnessed the rest of the speech.  She knew there were always power plays and politics, but at this moment, she allowed her heart to fill for France.

A bit later, the sound of music drew them down a familiar street, and they found themselves in front of _Le Petit Chiot_.  Two musicians with a violin and an accordion were playing spiritedly on the sidewalk, and smiling people with bottles and glasses of wine and alcohol moved to and fro, crossing in and out of the door and yelling to one another in celebration.  Delphine laughed as Cosima liberated one of the wine bottles and two glasses from a waiter’s tray and ran back to her companions, flashing a mischievous grin.  They ducked into an alley, and Scott worked at the top with his pen knife until Cosima grabbed the bottle and yanked the cork the rest of the way out with her fingers and teeth.  She poured liberally into the two glasses for Scott and Delphine, and then raised the bottle to them.

“Vive la Paris!”

Delphine and Scott laughed, clinking their glasses against the bottle.

“Vive la Paris!”

They all drank deeply.  Cosima made a show of tipping the bottle back and Delphine playfully grabbed it from her, only to tip it back herself.

“Vive la Paris. I’m glad you’re well, Mademoiselle Delphine,” came a voice behind her, and she turned.  It was Claude, his hat clutched in his hands and a look of contrition on his face.

“I’m glad you’re well, too, Claude,” Delphine answered, after a moment.  “What’s the news of Pascal and your friends?”

Claude licked his lips.

“Eh, there have been some skirmishes for days.  I mostly ran messages.  Pascal is brave, but… when I saw the soldiers…” he shrugged and trailed off.

Delphine imagined signing up with Pascal’s group had not turned out to be as Claude had hoped.  She bore the small man no ill will.  Maybe he wasn’t of the highest character, but he had tried.  She only hoped Pascal had not gotten too many of his supporters killed during the attacks on the Germans.

Delphine nodded, and after a moment, Claude seemed to succumb to the awkward air of the situation.  He gave a brief nod to Scott, with a respectful “Monsieur,” and then scuttled away.

Cosima tugged on the bottle in Delphine’s hand and, when the taller woman resisted letting go, simply tilted it down and moved her mouth underneath it.  Delphine giggled as the American took a good swig and then righted the bottle, standing up straight and wiping her mouth.

“Who was that?  Was it one of Pascal’s boys,” she asked.

Delphine hmmed, and pointed at her.

“Cheeky! _That_ is a story for later.”  They smiled at each other and Delphine, growing tipsy, flung an arm around Cosima’s neck.  “Come on,” she urged playfully, and slid her hand down to Cosima’s to pull her towards the music, “I feel like dancing!”

Sometime later, the trio, having found themselves more wine and cognac, as well, and all at various levels of giddy inebriation, stumbled back to the Lafrange’s house.  The doctor was out, but there were a couple men sporting bandages sitting at the kitchen table, while Madame Lafrange spooned out some bean stew.

“Madame Lafrange,” Delphine smiled, and the older woman looked up and turned to hug her.

“Delphine!  Oh, you must have been naughty.  You smell of alcohol.  All three of you!  Hello,” she offered her hand to Cosima, “I’m Madame Lafrange.”

“This is my… Cosima,” Delphine bumbled, grinning, as Cosima gave the mistress of the house a charming smile and a warm handshake.

“Pleased to meet you,” Madame Lafrange smiled, and took Scott’s arm.  “Come, you three, sit down.  You must be hungry.”

Delphine hesitated, eyeing the table and the men she didn’t know at it.

“Euh, I wanted to talk, to spend some time catching up with my friend,” she protested, looking toward the stairway.

Cosima turned back.

“C’mon, Delphine, I’m starving.  Don’t deny our gracious hostess.  We’ll have plenty of time for talking after we eat.”

The three of them sat at the table and broke bread together, gathering after small introductions that the two men had been injured in separate incidents during the fighting and come to the doctor’s residence to get treated.  Both seemed alright.

“Scotty, I want to catch up with you, too, in a little while,” Cosima told him, between mouthfuls of stew.  He had his chin in one hand, and seemed to be spooning more slowly by the minute, drooping into a slouch and sliding down in his chair.

“Yeah, me too,” he nodded, then yawned impressively.  Cosima laughed.

“Looks like you’re pooped.  I’m worn out, too.  We can rest a while before all that.”

Delphine looked down at the table, where Cosima’s hand rested but a few inches from her bowl, and felt a sort of warmth flow into her, a calm content.  She smiled, but slightly, under her now-loose half-curtain of hair, almost as if it was a private feeling, a grin meant to be kept to herself.  She could feel colour rising slightly in her cheeks, although she couldn’t have said why.  All she knew was that her foot, at that moment, decided to slide closer and give a little press against Cosima’s, as if there was a secret that they shared, and after a quick glance at her out of the side of her eyes, Cosima pressed back, too.

They finished eating and gave their fond excuses to Madame Lafrange, and all three of them trooped upstairs.  In the second floor hallway, Scott turned before climbing to the attic and gave Cosima a quiet hug.  After she squeezed him back, he smiled sleepily.

“I’m going to lie down,” he told them. “Wake me if you need me, or if anything happens.”

With his retreating footsteps, Cosima turned to Delphine.  The Frenchwoman was biting her lip through a small, almost shy smile, her eyes sparkling.  She quietly took Cosima into her room, and sat down on the bed.

Cosima took a look around, her lips also turned softly upward, and sat next to her.

“So,” she breathed out, “what a day.”

Delphine couldn’t think of anything to say so she simply smiled a bit wider.  There was so much she wanted to talk about, to share, but she was tired, and she also just wanted to bask in having found this remarkable woman.

“You look sleepy,” Cosima told her.  Her voice was warm.  “Almost as tired as me.  Why don’t I go wash my face and get out of your hair, and we can talk later?”

Delphine nodded, rubbing Cosima’s hand she was holding with her other hand.  “Oui, the washroom is down the hallway.  I have a pitcher of water and glasses in here, if you just want a drink.”

“Mm, maybe,” Cosima considered, standing up and moving to the door, her hand slowly sliding from Delphine’s fingers after giving them a light squeeze.  She opened the door and paused, turning back.

“Where am I going, anyway?” she asked.  “Where does Mrs. Lafrange want me to sleep?”

Delphine relaxed down on her side on the bed facing Cosima.  “Hm, there’s not much more room left.  Come back here and stay with me.  I still don’t want to let you out of my sight for too long.”

Cosima’s eyes flickered.  Her lips held a slight smile, while underneath she seemed to be cycling through a silent, choppy reel of thoughts and emotions.  Delphine raised her eyebrows and gave her a reassuring grin, which was interrupted by an unexpected yawn into her hand.

“Okay,” Cosima nodded, easing through the door.  “I’ll be back.”

Delphine shuffled to one side of the bed and laid still, her eyelids growing heavier by the second.  Outside, there were still sounds of disorder, of revelry, yells and footsteps and the roaring of engines going by, but it bothered her little.  Her body sank gratefully into the mattress, more comfortable than she could recall being in a long time, not just placed there in the hopes of recharging her physical strength.  Behind her eyelids, Cosima’s smile was still flashing, the sound of her throaty laughter when they danced a ridiculous parody of a tango back at the bar echoing in Delphine’s mind.  She felt a peace, then, something she did not fully realize consciously, and couldn’t have described or explained.

She must have dozed, because the next thing she noticed, she felt Cosima slipping quietly into the other side of the bed.  They were both on their sides, curved, echoing each other, and through her slitted eyelids, Delphine could see the roll of Cosima’s shoulder blades beneath her shirt, and then feel the bed stir with her sigh as she let herself relax into the comfort.  Delphine almost unconsciously reached out, slowly, across the space between them and placed one hand softly against the smaller woman’s back, feeling the warmth, the connection.  Before she knew it, she was asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

The room came slowly into focus. Delphine laid there, in her bed, not moving, just letting her senses awaken and take in her surroundings. The sun shone through the now-opened curtains, but at a different angle. Her mind slowly slipped into gear, and she remembered what had happened.

_Freedom. The Germans are leaving._

_Cosima._

She took in a deep breath, still unsure, hoping these memories were real. She shifted and looked down. She was still in her dress. Only her shoes were missing.

She slid onto her feet and stretched. Her mouth was dry, and she could taste the musty, acrid aftermath of her liberal intake of wine, but her body actually felt rested, and while her head felt slightly thick, she didn't think she was more than slightly hung over. She walked to the pitcher and poured a glass of water, taking a long drink and swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing. She drank a full glass and a half before she knew it.

It seemed very quiet, inside the house, and only when she focused could she hear passing sounds.

_No gunshots._

Still unsure, she left her room, looking up and down the hallway. Where was everyone?

"Cosima?" she called, her voice higher, more strained than she expected.

There was the sound of movement down below, and then Cosima's head peeked around the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

"Heyyy, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?"

Her grin was as real and heartwarming as Delphine remembered it. The Frenchwoman unconsciously hugged herself and smiled down at the American.

"I'm well, very well," Delphine smiled. "I'm just going to wash up."

"Okay. Take your time," Cosima told her, and looked at her for a moment before ducking back out of sight. With a happy squeeze of her own shoulders, Delphine whirled and walked into the water closet.

She took some time washing up. She looked in the mirror as she finally scrubbed the remains of the darker-toned makeup off her face, her natural, creamy, pale skin tone shining through. She looked at her own face. She looked less haggard, the circles under her eyes much faded.

_I don't have to put on those glasses again,_  she realized.  _I don't have to hide anymore._

She ran her fingers through her hair, then wet them slightly, smoothing the mussed bits and twirling a few locks around her fingers to bring some of the natural curl back into order. Perhaps she'd soon go blonde again.

Almost without thinking, she changed into new clothes and then went to the room where Danielle stayed and walked to the vanity. She sat down at the mirror, and lightly applied a touch of eye makeup, rouge and a fashionable red lipstick. She wasn't really thinking about what she was doing; it was compulsive, and when she was done and turned her head back and forth to evaluate the results, she couldn't quite decide what she thought. She saw in herself the damage, the pains she had been through, both physical and emotional, but she also felt more presentable. There was a subtle return of the glamour that had made her notorious while she was with the Germans, but much more natural. She realized she felt both more herself, who she was before the war, and yet somehow vulnerable. She wasn't disguising herself. She was trying to… look pretty again? Be normal? She couldn't quite place her finger on it, but when she made her way down the stairs and hesitated in the kitchen doorway, she felt somehow nervous, excited.

Cosima was standing by the window, arms crossed and with a steaming cup in her hand. The light illuminated her face at an angle, providing a back-glow almost like a halo. She seemed lost in thought, until something caught her attention, a rustle of clothing or a hitch in breath, and she turned to see Delphine. The corners of her mouth automatically turned up, and then wavered, paused, as her eyes took in the woman across from her. Her gaze took on a searching, almost upset appearance for just an instant, and then she let out a breath, her smile returning, almost but not quite at its usual brilliance.

"Wow, you… you look like you feel much better," she said, and Delphine's lips twitched a bit towards a smile in return, just enough that she realized she had been biting her lip while Cosima stared. "I can see more than ever why they called you 'The Swan.'" The compliment was all Delphine needed to allow herself a full smile.

There were a quiet few seconds, and then Cosima lightly cleared her throat, turning toward her and gesturing toward the table.

"Coffee? Eggs? You must be hungry again, by now."

"Ah," Delphine responded, with a little nod, "oui."

At a spread arm from Cosima toward a chair, Delphine seated herself at the table. Cosima walked to the stove and poured hot coffee into a cup, then placed it before her, pulling small containers of sugar and cream closer to within easier reach. Delphine's nose twitched and she picked up the cup, inhaling the aroma.

"Ah,  _real coffee_ ," she grinned, and Cosima returned her happy look.

"I know. We went all out and got the good stuff, in celebration."

The smaller woman turned and shifted back to the stove, warming a pan and adding oil and butter to it. Delphine took delighted sips as the pan crackled, soon lined with bread and two eggs.

"Mmm. What time is it? Did I miss anything?" she asked.

Cosima let out a quiet snort of laughter.

"Well, not much. I mean, there were people coming in and out, but you slept through all of it. I'm glad you got the rest. And it's about eleven."

Delphine squinted a bit and looked again toward the window. The angle of light, she realized, was not what she expected.

"Eleven in the morning?" she suddenly gasped.

"Yeah," Cosima chuckled, placing a plate of eggs and toast before her. "Oh, and there's a parade going on. The surrender has been signed and the second division is going to march with De Gaulle."

"We're missing the parade?" Delphine squeaked, hastily swallowing.

Cosima sat in a chair on the perpendicular side of the table from her and sipped her coffee.

"Don't worry, they're just getting started. You needed your rest and sustenance, and that'll be going on for a little while. Anyway, I'm not eager to put myself out there as a target right away, again. There are still some crazy German snipers holding out, here and there."

"Mmph," Delphine nodded, wrinkling her forehead, and swallowed a bite of egg. Cosima seemed to be content to see her seated, shoveling down her food. "Merde. But I still want to go out. I feel refreshed. I don't want to miss this, but… will you come with me?"

"Of course," Cosima answered. "I just didn't have the heart to disturb you. You looked so happy in your sleep."

Delphine looked at her new friend. She didn't look quite as well-rested, and Delphine wondered how long she'd been up. Delphine had a brief wish that she hadn't slept so long, not just so as not to miss any action happening outside, but also because she guessed that she would have felt so much better if she'd awoken with Cosima still there next to her.

She patted her mouth with her napkin and reached out, curling her fingers around Cosima's hand that wasn't holding the cup. Cosima looked down at the touch, then gave her hand a little squeeze and stood up, putting her cup in the sink and walking toward the doorway.

"I'm gonna go up and splash my face a little bit," she told Delphine, crooking her head toward the stairs. She put on foot on the bottom step and then looked back, a half-grin creeping up one side of her face.

"I'll be back. Take your time, gorgeous."

She disappeared, footsteps thumping up to the second floor, and Delphine touched her own face. She was grinning in a way she had almost forgotten.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request of LadyZephyr and in honour of the S03 premiere tomorrow, have a new chapter earlier than planned. :)

The crowds on the Champs-Elysées that afternoon were astounding.  Cosima and Delphine, after securing places to stand on a truck, watched the rows and rows of tanks and troops go by.  

They broke off before the parade ended and wandered again, not talking much.  By the time they made it back to the house, their tummies were rumbling, and they were glad to see Madame Lafrange in the kitchen, the doctor and Scott seated, ready for dinner.

“Ah, my lovelies!  Sit, sit, take your places,” the woman of the house urged them, and they did.  In a moment, Madame Lafrange joined them, and, after a quick grace led by the doctor, they passed the food around.

The good doctor had smiled in his gentle, bear-ish way when introduced to Cosima, and when he declared what a pleasure it was to have her there, she believed him.  The group talked about what they had seen that day, Scott having joined the Lafranges to visit the parade before the doctor insisted on making rounds to check on some local wounded.  They were lucky to have missed bullets fired at Notre Dame, which nearly caused the crowd to scatter.  Friends had told them that De Gaulle had simply carried on to the cathedral without betraying a bit of fear or hesitation.  

“Sounds like he’s going to be President,” Cosima observed, just as the door opened and footsteps came to the dining room entrance.

“Sounds like you’re right,” a voice came in answer, and when they looked up, it was Danielle joining them.

Delphine bounced up in delight.

“Oh, Danielle!”  She quickly moved to her journalist friend and embraced her in excitement.  “I’m so glad to see you.  Danielle, this is Cosima, the agent who was looking for me.  Cosima, this is Danielle, who saved my life, and, I think, my sanity.”

Cosima rose and the two women shook hands, hold lingering, as they looked at each other with respect and gratitude.

“I’m so honoured to meet you,” Cosima uttered solemnly.  Danielle gave a close-mouthed smile and a half-wave to dismiss the serious emotions in the air.

“Enchantée, Cosima.  You are so welcome. I’m so happy to meet you and see our Delphine smiling as she is.”

There was a shuffle as she sat down and they passed her the food.

“Pascal was right about one thing,” she stated, as she served herself.  “There weren’t many North African troops at the march today, not so many black faces.  But,” she half-shrugged, “all-in-all, a success.  I think Rol is seen as something of a lower-rung figure, now.”

“Were you there at Notre Dame?” Delphine asked.

“Yes, but I still have my instincts. Church columns make excellent cover from bullets.”  Her delivery of the jest was dry, as usual.

Around the table, the group hmm-ed and nodded, eating, until Scott piped up.

“You know, you two really do look kind of alike.”

Cosima and Danielle paused to look at each other, the others looking from one to the other and pondering.  The journalist was all smartly put-together fashion, her tumbling curls restored to their former darkness and gleaming, her air mature and elegant, her lips always just hovering at the edge of cynical twist.  The secret agent was casual, a bit bohemian, her body holding the energy of an inquisitive child, and the warm, dark, intelligent eyes behind her glasses good-natured above her smirk.  They both shrugged.

A chuckle went around the table, Delphine’s coming through fingers she did not realize had risen to cover her mouth. These two delightful women that captured her heart could be sisters, but they also were each quite themselves.  It was a little funny, she thought, but mostly just was happy to see them both near her, her two favourites.  She felt as though she could just bask in their combined presence.

That night, they shared stories.

After the doctor and his wife had retired to bed, Danielle talked of her husband, their determination, her loss.  She still held her composure while talking, and didn’t shed a tear.  Delphine almost wished she would, to get it out, but she knew and respected that her friend moved through life with a committed strength that helped her push through the worst situations, and defy the evil in the human soul. She would cry in her own time, and with whom she chose.

They both filled in the others about what had happened in the cattle car of the prison train, but Danielle told it matter-of-factly, while Delphine nodded, tears in her eyes, and said again how grateful she was to have met Danielle, to have escaped the horrible fortune the others on that train must have faced.  She had to pause and take a breath, Danielle and Cosima each taking one of her hands, before she pulled herself together, taking a page from her journalist friend’s book.

Delphine spoke little of her time with the Germans, except about instances where she had worked to pull off, triumphed or failed a mission.  She didn’t mention von Leekie, but she talked about the horror of madness and cruelty she saw in some men’s eyes, and the masklike stillness that slipped over her face as she talked about it betrayed the techniques she had used to hide her thoughts and feelings from the Öberführer, the other Nazis, and the collaborators.  Likewise, she bared little about her torture at the hands of Die Klinge, except to admit she was threatened and cut.  They did not press her, the horror and compassion clear in their eyes.

Cosima and Scott explained their trip into France and toward Paris.  Both spoke dismissively of their own actions while praising the other, although Cosima would occasionally fake overly smug pride in a comical way.  Cosima had a way of making frightening circumstances, such as getting caught hanging from a tree in a battlefield, unexpectedly stumbling upon a dummy, or sneaking through enemy lines and into the city — so far into its depths that they actually wound up _underneath_ it — sound amusing.  Where Danielle was straightforward, Cosima diffused tension with jokes, anecdotes and technical details.

Danielle was impressed with their luck, their drive, their quick thinking.  Questions were asked and answered about meeting the Spanish guerillas, the debacle at the Eiffel tower was gasped over, and they each shared details of what had happened to them as they drew together, finally to meet.  They all had to admit that their paths were exceptionally tangled and eventful.  But they had all taken action, risking their lives to fight against the darkness, to search for what was good.  Perhaps that was what had brought them so many highs and lows, twists and turns, and what truly united them.

“And you, Scott, have held yourself so well with such strong-willed women,” Danielle half-teased him, patting his leg and earning one of his embarrassed smiles.  “Many men couldn’t do that.  One could almost say you were an honourary lady among us.”

Scott chuckled, but his look was earnest.

“Honestly, I feel so blessed, just… so incredibly fortunate at having met and worked with each one of you.”

“That’s my boy Scotty,” Cosima smiled fondly and poked his arm.  He turned several shades of red.

They were all exhausted by then and decided to retire, heading to their respective beds.  Delphine and Cosima performed their ablutions in turn, and each donned one of the old, soft but clean nightgowns that had been draped on their bed while taking their turns in the bathroom.  

In the darkness, they lay facing each other.  Delphine’s eyes found Cosima’s and seemed to delve into them through the dim space between them.  She reached out a hand and tucked a strand of Cosima’s now-loose hair behind her ear.

“Mon amie,” she murmured.  

Cosima licked her lips.  Her hand moved slowly over to Delphine and lightly touched her shoulder, tracing across and gently covering the still-pink and angry scar near her collarbone.  Delphine took in a quick breath, and then closed her eyes and released it, released the fear bound in the broken flesh.

“How did you do it?” Cosima asked, her voice low.

“Do what?” Delphine asked, opening her eyes again.

“How did you stay… you?”

Delphine grasped Cosima’s meaning, and bit her lip in thought.

“I don’t think I did,” she finally answered, sadness in her tone.  “I think, for a long time, I just had to become somebody else.”

The two women gazed at each other.  Cosima’s hand found Delphine’s cheek.

“I’m _so_ … _sorry_ , Delphine,” she managed, her voice slightly breaking.

Delphine reached to hold her cheek in return and just barely shook her head.

“These things… bad things happen,” she replied.  “Worse things happened to other people.  I knew what I was getting into, as well as one can.  I’m here, now.  Paris is free, and I’m with you… and Danielle, and Scott.  And I am so grateful for that.”

Cosima looked down, one corner of her mouth twitching, her exhale both a scoff and a laugh.

“No, I… I mean yes, I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but also, I’m sorry that I couldn’t get here faster, that I couldn’t help you.”  She sighed.  “In the end, I didn’t help you at all.  Instead, I just put Scott and other people in danger.  You had to take it on yourself.  Danielle… if it weren’t for her… thank God you found each other.  I feel like I owe her a debt, maybe almost as much as you do…”

Delphine’s eyebrows drew together in a slight frown.

“Cosima.  I’m glad you are thankful to Danielle, but I have no doubt that you would have helped me just as she did, if you could.  How could you possibly have known?  How could you have gotten here?  And what about what you did to help the Spanish resistance fighters contact the army?  What if they had taken a different route, and run into more Germans?  We might as well speculate about why I couldn’t get to you to rescue you from that tree, or prevent you from having to run alone from the Eiffel tower.”

“But you were _my responsibility_ , Delphine.”  A tear spilled over from Cosima’s lashes onto her pillow.  She couldn’t be logical about this.

“I was never your responsibility, ma cherie.  I don’t know if there was any reason in you getting assigned to talk to me from England.  I don’t know why we talked the way we did, why you were so kind to me, except that you are good.  You could have reported what happened to me and gone on to the next project.  There were other people undercover you could try to protect.  But, somehow, we had this connection… something that I began to feel the first time I talked with you.  And you, being brave, and resourceful, and perhaps more than a little crazy, took it on yourself to try to help me.  Your commitment, your generosity, they amaze me.  It wasn’t something you had to do.  But I’m glad you did, if only because I feel as though you and I were meant to meet.”  

She tipped up Cosima’s chin with her fingers, encouraging the American to look into her eyes again.  

“You know, I got so much comfort from you.  Even after I could no longer hear you on the wireless, I could hear you in my head.  You were kind, and so close to real.  Perhaps that was just my imagination, but knowing you now, and witnessing how like you are to my thoughts of you… I feel almost as though we were connected, like there was a part of you that was with me, that reached me through the distance between us.”  

She paused, swallowing.  

“I don’t want you to think I’m projecting some idea I have of you that I made up in a time of need upon who you really are.  I know that, physically, we barely just met, and we will learn much more about each other… but I feel almost like I knew you well before, in another life I can’t remember.  Do you think that’s foolish?”

Cosima’s eyes were wide, scanning Delphine’s face.  

“N-no, Delphine.  I don’t think that’s foolish.” Cosima took a breath.  “I feel it, too.”

They fell silent, Delphine’s hand on Cosima’s jaw, and Cosima’s between them, clutching tightly at the sheets.  Cosima took a breath, and her lips parted as if she was about to speak.

The explosion shattered the window above them.


	26. Chapter 26

It was hard to think.  Her eyes didn’t want to open quickly, and there was a ringing in her ears.  When they did fully open, it took a moment for her to figure out what she was seeing, and remember where she was.

It was her bed.  Her room at the Lafrange’s.  But everything was wrong.  It was dim, but lit with a flickering orange from behind her, and there was a slow rain of dust and papers trickling down from somewhere above.  There was an acrid smell hitting her nose, now, and something black billowing in one corner.

Orange light.  Smoke.   _Fire._

Delphine scrambled onto her knees.  She could barely hear anything over the ringing in her ears, but she could see dark spots and smears on the sheets of her bed.  It was blood.  She looked down at her body and saw a few small rivulets dripping down her front and down her arm from her shoulder.  She touched the back of her head.  It was sticky, damp, and sore in a sharp way.  Something cut her finger and she jerked her hand away to look at it.  Glass.  There was glass in her hair.

Blood on the bed.  In streaks.

_Cosima._

She lurched to the edge of the bed and nearly put her foot down right on the American.  Cosima was sprawled, twisted, face up with her knees toward the bed.  Her eyes were open, but she looked stunned.  There was a slash across one of her cheeks and one at her hairline, which were oozing, but somehow her glasses were unbroken.  Delphine leaned forward and touched her face.

“Cosima!  Cosima, are you alright?”

Cosima blinked several times rapidly, and then her eyes found Delphine’s backlit silhouette.

“Uh… yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Are you okay?”  

Delphine could barely make her voice out over the ringing, but she nodded.  She put her foot down to stand, next to Cosima this time, and gasped out a small, surprised yell as she felt a shard of glass puncture the sole of her foot.

Cosima snapped up into a sitting position, reaching toward her, and then suddenly curled in on herself, pulling her arms around her midsection.

“Holy _fuck!_ ” she gasped, and Delphine dropped into a crouch to put a hand on her shoulder.  Cosima took a shivering breath and patted the Frenchwoman’s knee.

“I’m — I’m okay.  Just a little banged up here.  Don’t move.”

She slowly uncoiled her arms from around herself, and moved her hands down to check Delphine’s foot.  A quick tug removed the shard of glass, but the bleeding got worse.  Cosima grabbed at the end of the sheets and strained, tearing off a strip.  She quickly tied it around the wound.

“Okay, we have to get out of here, but we’ve gotta look where we step.  You think you’re okay to walk?”

Pain shot through Delphine’s sole as she tested her weight on the foot, and she grimaced, but then she nodded, resolved.  She would have to endure it.

Cosima slowly pushed herself into a standing position, squinching her eyes closed at one moment of pain, and offered her arm to her friend.  There was a sudden rumble and crash above them as Delphine took it, and they looked at each other in alarm.

“Alright, one foot in front of the other.  Let’s go,” Cosima insisted.

The two of them proceeded carefully, Delphine having to put her arm around Cosima’s shoulder when her foot protested at taking all her weight, and Cosima wheezing a bit and guiding them to step around and between pieces of glass sparkling in the orange flicker coming through the window.  Delphine’s ears still rang, but less, and she could now hear the wail of air raid sirens puncturing the night.  Who was bombing them?  Was it the Allies, or the Germans?  Weren’t they supposed to be liberated, now?

Entering the hall, the smoke became thicker, and they both began to cough.  Delphine turned to follow Cosima’s gaze as the American’s attention snapped to the attic door down the hall.  It was nearly obscured by the thick, black smoke billowing out of it, the flash of embers and sparks adding a hellish glow further up the stairs.

“Scott,” Cosima screamed, stumbling toward the attic door, _“Scott!”_

But the smoke was overwhelming, the heat building and crackling of flames becoming more audible.  Delphine tugged on Cosima’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing you can do,” she shouted through the din and vapours. “Cosima… _Cosima,_ no one could get through that!”

_“Scott!”_  Cosima understood, but she just couldn’t help herself.  She let out one last sound, a choked sob, and then, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, turned back to help Delphine down the main staircase.

They made the rest of their way mainly by feel.  Although the air was better on the first floor, it was darker, and the sweat, soot and tears running into their eyes blurred their vision, just as the chaos around them and their panic clouded their minds.  But the front door wasn’t far, and it was open.  They made it through and out into the fresher air.

Cosima kept them limping along until they were some distance from the house, then stopped and looked around, coughing and sore.  Madame Lafrange ran up to them from a small group of people.

“Girls!  Thank God!  Are you alright?  Have you seen Hubert?  Have you seen the doctor?”

“We’re fine,” Delphine dismissed their minor injuries.  “No, is he inside?  Have you seen Scott or Danielle?”

“He went back inside to find them.  Pierre, one of our wounded patients, he is out, but the other… he didn’t make it.”

The three women all looked at each other in terror.  Cosima turned back around as if to make for the door.

“No,” both Delphine and Madame Lafrange said at the same time, grasping her arms.

“Cosima, we can’t go back in there, it’s too dangerous,” Delphine warned her.

“There’s got to be something…” Cosima cried, looking quickly around her.  “Can we get water?  Where are the firemen?”

“They’re coming,” Madame Lafrange replied.  “They’ll be here soon.”  The look on her face said she was trying to reassure herself as much as the younger women.

Sure enough, they could hear the distant wail of a siren coming toward them.  Cosima was turning in different directions, distraught, hands clenching and unclenching, so Delphine pulled her closer.

“Stay with me,” she insisted, putting her arm around Cosima’s shoulders, and hoping she could dissuade her from being rash.  “I still need your support to stand.”

Cosima’s eyes, overflowing with unnoticed tears, met hers, and slowly focused.  The American nodded in acquiescence.

Delphine put her other arm around Madame Lafrange, pulling her close.  The older woman wrung at the material of her robe, all three of them peering at the door of the house, searching for a sign of their loved ones.  There was a cracking, ripping sound, and part of the roof collapsed, releasing a column of flames into the sky.

And then, a flicker, a shadow at the door.  Hubert Lafrange came barreling out, his medical bag in hand.  Madame Lafrange cried out his name, and he quickly saw the women and jogged over to them, his face red with exertion.  He bent over, wheezing, as he reached them, his wife’s hand touching his shoulder.

“I couldn’t find them.  The smoke was too much,” his voice was distressed, apologetic.  Delphine trembled at his gaze.

And then, another movement at the door.

A figure emerged, cradling another in its arms.  It was Scott, part of one sleeve singed off, carrying Danielle.  He stumbled forward.

All of them went racing to him at once, Cosima yelling his name.  He made it a few more feet forward, and then collapsed to his knees as they reached him, laying Danielle’s form on the ground.

“Danielle!   _Danielle!”_  Delphine was crying, and then as she saw her friend motionless, nonresponsive, she erupted into a horrified, pained wail, not even realizing herself what she was doing.  She sank to her knees beside the journalist, and the doctor joined her, kneeling, as they tried to revive her, detect the slightest breath, a single heartbeat.

“Wait,” the doctor said, “wait,” and Delphine’s wrist flew to her own mouth, her teeth clenching it in order to quiet herself.  The doctor opened his medical bag, pulled out his stethoscope and put the earpieces to his ears, pressing the diaphragm to her chest.  There was a long, silent moment.  Then he looked up at them.  

“She’s breathing, her heart is beating.  She’s unconscious, but alive.”

Delphine clutched at Danielle’s hand, mumbling some sort of thanks she wasn’t aware of.  Cosima moved over to Scott, putting an arm around him.

“Are you alright,” she asked, “are you injured?”

He nodded, coughed a bit, and then found his voice.

“A little burned, not too serious.  You?”

The clangor around them had risen, as the fire engine had arrived, and citizens and firemen pushed through rubble to set up hoses, find loved ones and tend to the wounded.  

“I’m fine,” she answered, and looked around.  “We need an ambulance.”  She whirled  around, grabbing the arm of a fireman as he went by.  “We need medical help,” she barked at him.

The fireman cocked his head.  “I’m not… I don’t know,” he fumbled, his French sounding off.  “Do you speak English?”

“What?  Yes,” Cosima answered, taken aback.  “Are you American?”

“Yeah, we’re just… helping out.  You?”

“Same. Look, we really need…”

“My car is still down the street, we will take her to the hospital,” Doctor Lafrange interjected.  “There’s no telling when an ambulance might get here, how many bombs have dropped…”

“I’m coming with you,” Scott and Delphine both insisted at the same time, and the doctor looked at them.

“Scott, help me carry her, Delphine, you’ll be with her in the back, monitoring her life signs.”  He looked up at his wife.  “Mon ange…”

“I know,” she answered, touching his face.  “We can’t all fit in there.  Cosima and I will get there as soon as we can, somehow.”

Cosima watched, flustered, as the others picked up Danielle and scurried to the car.  

“Hey, you American?  You speak French,”  the fireman suddenly asked her, and she blinked rapidly, trying to make some sense of all that was happening.

“Yes,” she managed.

“Then we could use your help.  My buddy and I, we’re from the states, and our translator is back there hooking up the hose.  Can you help us talk with the French?  We have to make the rounds and see where the worst fire is, and if there are people missing.”

“We will both help you,” Madame Lafrange assured him, touching Cosima’s arm.  My English is not so good, but I can assist.”

There was more noise as an ambulance suddenly pulled up, parting the crowd.  Cosima glanced at it.

“There they are now, of course,” she sighed, and looked back at the doctor’s wife.  “Why don’t you help with triage, and I’ll help translate for… this guy,” she offered.  “We’ll meet back by the ambulance soon.”

Madame Lafrange nodded, and they parted ways.

Cosima wasn’t sure at all how much of this night was real.  Lying in bed with Delphine, talking, the explosion, the fire and the emergence of her friends… and now a seemingly Parisian fireman who turned out to be American.  She shook her head to clear it as they approached a group of people crying and gesticulating at another crumbling house.  

She’d have to sort it out later.  For now, they needed her help.


	27. Chapter 27

Hours had passed.  Delphine didn’t know how many, perhaps nearly a day, but she had dozed off in a chair near Danielle’s hospital bed.  She wasn’t sure what woke her, the sun angling through the window curtains, a small sound or just the feeling of someone’s watchful presence, but her eyes slowly blinked open, and when they focused she was met by a smile, punctuated by pointed eye teeth, and surrounded by a smeared, black layer of soot.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Cosima said softly, with affection.  Delphine half-smiled and made a dismissive noise that turned into a yawn.  Cosima chuckled.

“Don’t _‘pfft’_ me,” she responded, with a light push on Delphine’s shoulder.  “It looks like you got a chance to wash your face, while I look like some horrible, racist cartoon over here.  Have you seen Bugs Bunny, lately?  Not any better, with the way they’re mocking the Japanese…”

Delphine’s smile spread, and she rose, stretching.

“You look wonderful to me,” she whispered, “but we should talk outside.  Some people need their sleep.”

Cosima nodded, grinning at the sight of Danielle peacefully lying in the hospital bed, skin colour back to an oxygenated normal, and Scott uncomfortably draped, snoring, in another chair, his head on the edge of the bed.

The hallway was still loud and busy, with people running around tending to the wounded.  Delphine wrinkled her brow and took Cosima’s hand, guiding her into what looked like an empty office.

“Whew,” Cosima breathed, once the door was closed.  “So Danielle is going to be okay?  I ran into Doctor Lafrange…”

“Yes, she had smoke inhalation, but she woke up for a while lucid, so they don’t think there will be much damage,” Delphine answered, still holding her hand and bringing up her other hand to play with Cosima’s fingers.  “What happened to you?”

“Ah, well, you’re not gonna believe this, but I…” she coughed for a moment, holding up one pointer finger and releasing her hand from Delphine’s grasp to cover her mouth, then swallowing.  “I ran into some American airplane pilots.  They’d been shot down and were in hiding in Paris for months.  They told me they had been taken in by the local fire brigade, and helped out with fires while they barely spoke a lick of French.  They even told me…” she coughed again, and cleared her throat with a small rumble, “that if they got called to fires at collaborationists’ houses, they might just mess things up on purpose, or let the fire burn for a while.  Heh.”  She gave a smirk that was part admonishment in absentia, part feeling tickled.

Delphine shook her head at the improbable occurrence.   _But then again,_ she reflected, _almost any odd thing has seemed possible for a while, now_.

“Anyway, so I was translating for them,” Cosima explained, “so they could try to find missing people.  We got two kids out of a fourth story…” She started coughing again, this time leaning forward.  Delphine frowned and rubbed her back.  She looked around the room.

“Take it easy, ma cherie,” she cautioned.  “We should get you some water.”

Cosima straightened up, suppressing the coughs and clearing her throat again.  She waved a hand in dismissal.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “Water would be great, but I could really use a shower and some rest.  Actually, I think I could sleep for close to a week.”

Delphine nodded, and circled her other arm around her friend to pull her in for a hug.

“Yes.  We’ll get you that.  I’m so glad to see you, even if you smell like a smoke house…”

She paused.  Cosima had stiffened, and her nails dug into Delphine’s back.

Suddenly Cosima erupted, hacking and coughing with a wet, clogging sound that scared Delphine into pushing her back to look at her.

“Cosima?”

Her eyes were wide, then bulging. Her fingers clutched at the hospital robe Delphine had been given.  She wheezed, and then let out a horrible gurgle, expelling a spray of frank blood onto Delphine’s chest, and then falling down as Delphine clutched at her.  

_“Cosima!”_

Cosima slid down onto her back.  Her face under the veil of ashes was pale, her body shuddering.  Delphine realized she couldn’t breathe.

“Help!” Delphine yelled, then stepped just far enough away to yank open the door.  “Help, someone!  She can’t breathe, she’s coughing up blood…”

But the hallway was still in near-chaos, medics barreling past pushing a gurney with a writhing, screaming figure on it, a doctor and nurse urgently examining people laid on the floor, people coming from different directions, calling for assistance.

“She can’t breathe,” she called again, and then turned back.  Cosima was shaking on the floor, her lips turning blue, eyes rolling up toward her eyelids.  Another spasm, and it looked as though she might be moving into a grand mal seizure.

The medical student in Delphine kicked in.

She bent over and tilted Cosima’s head back, palpating her throat.  She held her friend’s jaw open with one hand and swept her mouth with a finger from the other.  Nothing.  She put her head to Cosima’s chest and listened.  Heart racing, almost no breath sounds at all.  What was most likely?  She remembered the explosion and the pain in Cosima’s midsection…

“Pneumothorax, hemothorax,” Delphine said aloud, and then looked around, searching.  Her eye caught on a cabinet and she yanked it open.

“Hold on.  Hold on…” she chanted, fingers trembling with a rush of adrenaline.  She dug through the shelves and pulled out a long, large syringe and needle.   _“Merde…”_

The backs of Cosima’s heels had started tapping spastically at the floor tiling.  Delphine grabbed something else and launched herself back at the suffocating woman, sliding to a stop on her knees beside her.

“Come on,” she urged herself, struggling with shaking hands at a bottle.  “Mon dieu…” she ripped off the cap and splashed the brown liquid iodine onto a gauze pad, yanked up Cosima’s nightgown and smeared at the skin with the pad frantically.  Her fingers moved up Cosima’s ribs and found the second intercostal space.  Delphine made a desperate noise in her throat, compressing her lips together, and slammed the needle into her friend’s chest cavity.

Her fingers slipped and she cursed, then pulled back on the plunger.  It resisted, barely budging.  Cosima’s spasms were becoming weaker.  Delphine pulled the syringe back slightly and repositioned it, then tried again.

The plunger pulled back, the syringe filling with air and drops of blood.  She yanked it out and emptied it, then stuck it back in again.  This time there was less air, and more blood.  Cosima had grown still.

_“No,”_ Delphine roared, and withdrew and plunged the needle back in again.  A spatter of blood came out, a bit more air, and then, resistance, again.

Cosima’s throat rattled.  Her head jerked.  Then she took in one crackling, shuddering breath.

Delphine watched her.  There was a hitch and Cosima hacked out a small clot of blood, but then she was sucking in air, and breathing it out.  Her eyes opened, and moved down to look at the woman hovering over her, the syringe sticking out of her chest.

_“Holy shit,”_ she faintly whispered, and Delphine felt a tear drop from her own cheek onto the smaller woman’s chest.

The door opened and at last a doctor and nurse rushed in.  Delphine numbly explained what happened as they examined Cosima and brought in a litter to carry her out, but her hand didn’t let go of her friend’s again.  Not for one second.


	28. Chapter 28

Scott made his way to the hospital room and peeked in the door.  He’d heard the good news that Cosima was awake and talking.

“… broke your ribs, you silly girl.  How did you run around all that time after that?  What were you thinking?”

“Mmm, I dunno,” Cosima rasped, her eyes half-closed but her lips pulling sideways into a slightly sheepish but still mischievous smirk.  “I honestly didn’t feel it that much.  Maybe the shock, or something.  I guess I thought there were other things that were more important.  How did you run around with your foot sliced open?”

“Hmm, touché,” the other woman acknowledged, with a fond smile.  “But you—“

Cosima’s eyes glanced over and caught sight of Scott’s face in the doorway.

“Hey, Scotty-boy,” she called, almost at normal speaking volume, “how ya doin’?”

“I’m fine,” he smiled, looking briefly down at his bandaged arm and shrugging.  “Stings pretty bad, but nothing that got all the way through the skin.”  He entered the room and pulled up a chair next to Delphine.  “I actually came to ask the same of you,” he prompted, taking in the bulge of the plaster under her arm, and curve of the small tube that came from a hole in it and went to a collection bottle.  “Glad to see you finally got cleaned up, but you’re looking a little Frankenstein’s monster, there,” he teased.

“Ugh, picking on the invalid.  Hit ‘im, Delphine.”  

Delphine responded with a playful tap on his head, laughing with Cosima when he yelped “hey” in mock offense.

“So what’s the prognosis,” he inquired.

“She’ll be here a little while to make sure she’s alright, and will be on antibiotics.  She can’t move too much until the doctors are sure that her ribs are stable.  We don’t want them injuring her lung again.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Cosima acknowledged.  “That and I’m on some pretty nice pain meds.  Hope I don’t go back to San Francisco only to end up in an opium den.”  The others laughed.

“How about Danielle?  Delphine tells me she may be able to get out of here soon.”  

“Yeah,” Scott nodded, “she’s doing really well.  Respiratory system not too bad at all, considering everything.  The LaFranges are staying with a friend who has extra room, so we’ll be staying there, too, when she doesn’t have to be in the hospital anymore.”

“Well, Scotty, it sounds like you truly saved her life,” Cosima told him, both praise and respect in her voice.  “I’ll tell ya honestly, when I saw those attic stairs aflame, I was so scared.  I thought for sure you’d never make it out.  But then there you came, carrying Danielle with you.  You’re a regular hero.”

“Awww,” Scott dismissed, looking away and hunching his shoulders.  

“How did you do it, anyway?  Get out of that conflagration in the attic?  It looked like there was a hole clear through the roof.  How did you get from there to Danielle’s room?”

There was a pause, and colour began to rise on the young man’s cheeks.  

“I, uh… I wasn’t in my… the attic room…”

Both women looked at him, slow realization breaking over their faces.  Delphine’s hand moved over her mouth to cover a small gape of surprise.  Cosima’s eyes bugged out.

“Scott!  You _dirty dog_ ,” she yelled, with just a wheeze to betray the effort it cost her.  She reached out and punched him in the arm.  “You and Danielle?”

A slow grin spread across his face, and the women’s expressions followed suit.  

“Sacre bleu… I didn’t know,” Delphine murmured.

“Who _did_ know?  Wow.  Wowie wow wow.  How long has this been going on?”

“Not long,” he said quietly, with a shrug, but his face betrayed his delight.  “I mean, I don’t… whatever’s gonna happen… but, yeah, I… however it happened, I… she’s amazing, you know?”

Delphine reached out and patted his hand, her expression warm and gentle.

“You both are,” she told him, and he blushed again.

“Well, then.  Don’t let us keep you from your… damsel in distress you rescued,” Cosima winked.  “I’m fine over here.  Keep her company.”

Scott rolled his eyes a little, but rose.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, side-stepping towards the door.  “Oh, and she sends her regards.  Oh, and Delphine, you can come by and visit later if you want.  I mean, take your time, but she’d love to see you.”

“Okay, Scott,” Delphine smiled, and gave a little wave.  “See you.”

They were quiet until his footsteps retreated down the hallway, and then they both looked at each other with nearly identical gasps.

 _“What?”_  Cosima began to cackle, and then cut it off when a small series of coughs intruded on her laughter.  She looked amazed, bemused and amused.

“I don’t know…” Delphine answered, slowly shaking her head.  “But, I’m happy for them.  They are both such good people.  Very different, you know?  But… I want them to be happy.”

“I’ll say,” Cosima agreed, including all of Delphine’s statement.  “Wow.  Hard to imagine, at first, but… well, he did save her life, y’know.”

Delphine nodded, patting her friend’s hand.

“Oui, that he did.  But are you saying that was a seduction tactic?”

Cosima made an exaggerated face of denial.

“Oh, no, nooo,” she insisted.  “But it could be a good technique, you know, now that you mention it.”

They both laughed, buoyed by the gleam in each other’s eyes.  Delphine threaded her fingers together with Cosima’s, and the woman in the bed looked down, her laughter fading.  She paused for a moment, seeming to hesitate.

“You, uh… you saved _my_ life, you know,” she pointed out quietly, giving a small squeeze to Delphine’s fingers.  “Seriously, I could’ve died if you hadn’t turned into some kind of, like, samurai Dr. Kildare back there with the needle…”

Delphine felt a flush in her cheeks, and as though her stomach quickly flipped.  She looked down at their joined hands and used her thumb to gently stroke Cosima’s fingers.

“Well,” she said after a moment, letting out another dismissive _pfft_ of breath, “you pretty much saved my life, too, back at the house.  You supported me with my wounded foot and helped guide me out.”

“Meh, come on,” Cosima shrugged.  “You would’ve gotten out of there without me.  Probably faster, without that freak-out I had when we saw the attic door.”

Delphine tsked.

“What is this, a competition?  I say you helped me, then I helped you.  That’s what you do when you care about each other.”  She took a breath and looked back up at Cosima’s face.  The smaller woman swallowed, seeming to mull it over.

“Yeah…” she said quietly.  “We kind of saved each other, I guess.”  She didn’t look up, but when Delphine leaned forward to press her forehead to hers, she closed her eyes with a tiny smile, and pressed her forehead slightly back.

They stayed there for a moment, just feeling each other’s closeness.  Delphine breathed in deeply, the mere warmth and softness, the subtle smell unique to Cosima somehow soothing her.  

“Delphine,” Cosima murmured, in almost a whisper.  “I…”  Her jaw tightened, and her breath hitched.

Delphine leaned back enough to see her friend’s face, and lightly touched Cosima’s jaw with her free hand.

“Yes?”

Cosima cleared her throat.  She leaned back, and her eyes moved from Delphine’s face to over her shoulder, to the ceiling and down, and finally back to someplace just left of center on the Frenchwoman’s cheek.

“I just want to thank you, again.  And also say I’m grateful I met you.  And…” Her eyes rolled a bit and she pulled a smirk.  “I hope there’s a lot of room at the Lafrange’s neighbours’ house, because I definitely do not need to be too near Danielle and Scott if they’re going to share a room.”

Delphine’s hand moved up to cover her giggle, and she bit her lip.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , non,” she mused.  “I think it’s cute they’ve been together, and I hope they are well, but I definitely don’t need to hear that, either.”

They both laughed, and then Delphine patted Cosima’s hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got good news.  I heard some rumours and I was able to contact my lawyer.  It turns out my apartment is vacant.  There was some Nazi officer staying there, but he’s gone, and it’s still in good shape.  So, you can stay there with me.”

“Oh.  Oh, that’s wonderful, for you.  I, uh, thanks, yeah, if you have a spare bed, that would be so nice…”

“Of course,” Delphine assured her, smiling fondly.  “It will be fun to have you there, in my actual home.  Like a sleep-over party.”  Her eyes dipped, and her voice came quieter. “You know, when we used to talk on my father’s wireless, and then after… sometimes I’d imagine what it would be like to have you there with me.  What your smile would be like, what you would think of the view, the furniture, my childhood pictures… what it would be like if the Germans were gone and we could go to my favourite café.  We could talk about California and have pain au chocolat…” Her gaze focused again on Cosima’s.  “I’m just so grateful to you, too.  You know, in a way, you saved me before we even met.”

Cosima slowly raised her eyes to Delphine’s.  This time, she was the one who bit her own lip.  Then she blinked and looked away.

“You’re a great gal, but you’re sappy,” she said, and looked at the window.  “I, um, I’m getting pretty tired.  I’d better get some sleep.  Why don’t you go check in on Danielle, if Scott isn’t locked in there with her.”

Delphine let out a little chuff of amusement.

“Alright.  Rest well, ma cherie.”  She leaned forward, and pressed her lips gently to Cosima’s forehead, then rose and left the room.

Cosima looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

 _“Shit,”_ she hissed.


	29. Chapter 29

Danielle put her hand on Delphine’s shoulder as they stood looking at the door.

“Last chance to pull out,” she said, with just a bit of a smile.

“Oh, you think I’m going to take the coward’s way out, eh?” Delphine glanced at her, then fitted the key in the lock.  “Not while I have you here.  You’re my safety blanket.”  She gave a quick wink and opened the door.

Inside, it was not so different than when she had left.  Her lawyer had arranged for a cleaning service to come and fix things up.  The Nazi officer’s personal effects had been removed.  There were just a few differences: a stuffed grey chair in the living room, new spackling and paint, the table in the kitchen had been moved and covered with a white tablecloth and the good chinaware was gone, while the faint but distinct whiff of cigar smoke intruded here and there, quickly dissipating.

Of course, her father’s wireless was gone.  She wondered where they had moved it.  It could be as close as the main police station, or as far as Berlin.  There really was no telling.

Danielle walked beside her, taking things in silently.  When she saw the bar she walked over and examined it.

“Ah,” she said, pulling out a bottle, “still some good cognac.  Care to join me?”

Delphine let a brief smile flit across her face and shrugged.  

“Might as well.”

They each took a glass.

“To you,” Danielle toasted, “and to making a home for yourself.”

Delphine raised her glass, but her lips quirked.

“To you,” she said, “and to the end of the Nazis.  We should all be able to find homes for ourselves.”

Danielle gave a nod in agreement and they clinked glasses.  The cognac was golden and warm, and breathing out the faint burn of the alcohol made Delphine feel more present, somehow.

They walked from room to room.  The cleaning had been thorough.  A valuable painting was missing from the sitting room.  Really, it was surprising that so many artworks were still there.  The man who’d stayed there must have liked them, and had some pull.

There were none of her compacts or lipsticks in the bathroom, none of her mother’s perfumes on the vanity in her room.  But grandfather’s table clock was still there, and working, and she noticed with approval that the bedclothes, and even the mattress, were new.

“Your lawyer’s efficient,” Danielle commented, glancing into the opened closet.  There were a few dresses hung inside.  “Yours?”

Delphine looked at them, her face impassive.

“Yes.  I wonder if someone wore them.”

“Hmm.  Does it matter?  Everything’s been cleaned.”

Delphine pursed her lips.

“No.  I suppose it will be good to have more to wear.”

The dresses looked incredibly fine and expensive compared to what she had been wearing recently.  It was both something of a relief and jarring, seeming vain and unnecessary.

Danielle put her hand on Delphine’s shoulder again.

“It must seem so strange, being back here.  So much, yet so little has changed.”

“Mmm,” Delphine nodded.  Tapping her finger on her chin.  “I think I will have some more beds moved in.  There are a lot of people who still need a place to stay, especially with so many refugees returning here.”

Danielle stood beside her and gave her a little squeeze with one arm.

“This is true.”  She looked thoughtful for a moment.  “And what about your convalescing houseguest?”

There was a change in Delphine’s expression that Danielle couldn’t quite place.  It flickered across her face often when the American woman was mentioned.  It contained a certain distraction, a warmth, but also a brief tinge of fear, as if Delphine didn’t want to linger on her own thoughts, and needed a distraction.

“Oh, well, I suppose I won’t bring in more lodgers until she’s well.  It shouldn’t be long, but I don’t want to jeopardize her health.  She needs some peace and quiet.”

“And you?”

Delphine looked at her friend.

“Of course.  We could all use some peace and quiet, couldn’t we?”  She took another sip of her cognac and moved to the window, taking in the cityscape.  A column of smoke caught her eye, and she could see some damage to the buildings near it.  Some areas were still cleaning up from the bombing, the final, petulant, retreating blow from the Germans.

“Although, I don’t think I’ll feel at home until I can get back to my parent’s house in the country,” she mused.  “Also, I won’t feel peace until the Germans are out of France… out of other countries, all the way back to their old borders.”

Danielle sat on the bed, crossing her legs.

“I agree.  Things aren’t nearly over, yet, or nearly safe.  I would also like to see justice for those who have suffered, as much as one can have, and reparations from those criminals who…” her lips tightened, and she seemed to be quelling some emotion inside her.  “I want justice, not retribution.  But it’s hard not to get carried away.”

Delphine turned back to her.

“Yes,” she acknowledged, drawing her own curtain over her more painful memories.

“Do you think I might visit your country house, someday?  I haven’t been out of the city in years, and I would love to see where you spent your childhood.”

“Of course,” Delphine smiled.  “I would love to have you there.  It’s that kind of thinking that gives me hope, you know?  If I can just envision France back to normal, healed… and sharing old feelings of happiness and comfort with my, my new family, like you.”

Danielle met her smile with her own.

“The feeling is mutual,” she said, then paused.  She cocked her head.

“And will you be taking our other friends there?  Such as Cosima?”

Delphine looked a bit puzzled.

“Well… yes, yes of course.  If… if she’s still here.  She may have to… she may want to go back to her own home, or she may have duties elsewhere.”

Danielle did not miss the veil of sadness that briefly fell over her good friend’s eyes.

“Has she talked about that?”

“No, not really, yet…” Delphine caught her bottom lip in her teeth, a vertical line appearing between her eyebrows.

“Does she make you nervous,” Danielle asked, and Delphine subtly drew back her head, as if both bemused and caught out.

“No, I adore her.  Why would I be nervous?”

Danielle thought for a moment, and then shrugged slightly with a small smile.

“I don’t know.  But I can tell you, I like her, very much.  I’m glad you two have been spending time together.  I can’t always be around you as often as I would like now, what with the things I must do.  It’s nice to know someone else is… looking after you.”

Delphine seemed to contemplate this.  The hand holding her cognac was now crossing her body, while the other, arm propped at the elbow on the perpendicular forearm, reached up to toy with the pins and stray hairs at the back of her neck.

“What about… you and Scott?  I’m glad you’ve found someone to care for you like that.  Is it serious?  Have you talked about what might happen?”

Danielle sighed and tipped the last of her cognac into her mouth.

“Scott is… he’s a wonderful man.  The way in which he can be gentle and romantic, yet strong as he is loyal, it reminds me of my husband… although his charms are… less urbane?  More simple, perhaps?  He doesn’t have the… quickness of thought and personality that my dear Noel had.  Scott is…” her fingers traced a line on the bedspread, “smart, sweet, but very… solid, underneath.  You understand?”

Delphine nodded and sat down by her friend, giving her her full attention.

‘But, it’s nice, yes.  I find myself… I did not expect to become as attached to him as I have.”  She licked her lips, tilting her head to the side for a moment.  “But, these are times of war.  I can’t make any promises, know what will happen, even from one moment to the next.  Especially with someone from another country whom I barely know.”

The two women looked at each other, comfortable communicating just with their gazes, both a little sad.  

“That’s very understandable,” Delphine finally said.  She reached out and laid her hand over her friend’s.  “But I believe in you, your brain and your strength.  You, as much as I have been, are like the cat with nine lives.  I know you will do things that are important, things which may take you away for a while, but I truly trust… I feel we will meet again, more than once.  That we will both return to the city and spend days having lunch, talking, or nights acting like happy fools.  We’ve forged a connection, you and I.  After what we’ve been through, I don’t think anything could really separate us.”

Danielle smiled softly and turned her hand over to hold Delphine’s.  Maybe she had her doubts based on the fickleness and cruelty of life, but Delphine could tell she felt the same way.


	30. Chapter 30

Today was the day.  Cosima was finally getting out of the hospital.  Danielle had been kind enough to bring over a simple skirt and blouse for her, well-cut and fitting, and some summer sandals.  She checked herself in the mirror again.  She hadn’t been able to do her hair as usual for a while now, so it spilled down in dark, glossy waves.  She put it up in a loose bun, and applied some of the make-up Danielle had also delivered.  She was finally starting to feel human again, as if she could take some time to make herself feel good.  Maybe it was not working for some days, maybe it was the relative peace in Paris, as the Allies pushed westward, maybe it was just being able to take a breath, to feel as though she didn’t have to fight for her life, or for the lives of the people she felt deeply about.

Maybe it was something else.

She knew she’d have to get in contact with the military again, eventually.  That she couldn’t, wouldn’t spend too much time out of the war effort, that there was so much more to do, to contribute.

But not yet.  Not right this second, while her ribs and her wound and her lungs were still healing, while she was finally about to be able to walk the streets without hiding.

And while she was able to spend time with Delphine.

She paused, looking into her own eyes in the mirror.  

“Get yourself together,” she said.   _Don’t be a dreamer,_ she thought, _don’t ruin things.  But don’t let possibilities pass you by…_

There was a soft knock on the door, and she whirled, unsure what she had said aloud, what the visitor had heard, to see Delphine’s face in the doorway, beaming.  She was in a flowered dress, gauzy and almost floating.  She had done her hair.  It was blonde again, in a golden chignon.  She had on red lipstick, striking against her pale skin.

“You look together to me,” she offered.  “Are you ready?  I was thinking it’s not too far to walk, and there is a vendor now selling glace… ice cream, if you would like a treat.”

Cosima’s grin spread across her face.

“That,” she responded, “sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

Delphine hooked her arm around Cosima’s as they exited the hospital, turning to look when her friend stood still for a moment, tilting her head back and letting the sunshine warm her face.  Just looking at the enjoyment Cosima felt in that simple gesture brought her a smile.  The American took a deeper breath than she had yet managed in the hospital, and let it out.  She opened her eyes.

“Alright, cookie, let’s blow this pop stand!”

It was a beautiful late summer’s day, with a bright cerulean sky daubed with a few small, puffy clouds, and just a hint of a breeze.  One might be forgiven if one wished to forget there was a war going on not far away for a moment.  As much as Paris had suffered, the city had functioned and remained closer to normal than almost any other occupied territory.  Businesses had been open, hospitals run, daily life, though tense, had gone on, for many.  Now citizens were strolling along, taking in the sun and fresh air.  Some certainly had family and friends in danger, and many needed to recover from pain and loss.  Nevertheless, the illusion of a full return to pre-war routine was a comforting temptation.

They bought their glaces and walked on, tasting each other’s treats.  There were very few American troops left on the streets, as most had continued to push right through their the Paris parade route and on to the east, to the front lines.  Policemen were present, but some who had been the most vicious of the collaborators were gone.  They moved from a wide avenue to a smaller street, and talked about happy, distracting things, like Cosima’s favourite soda shop at home, and how in winter one could buy warm chestnuts on the streets.

They neared a small cross-street, and heard a din, a cacophony of voices, raised in jeering and angry tones.  They looked at one another and slowed, peering around the corner.

A crowd was gathered, mostly men, although some women were also involved. They were pushing around someone, someone who was crying.  Coming closer, Delphine and Cosima could see it was a woman in a tattered dress.  Her hair had been completely shaven down to stubble, and she sported a swelling eye and a busted lip.  Delphine briefly hesitated, but when Cosima decisively began striding toward the scene, she quick-stepped to join her.

“Hey, what’s going on,” Cosima asked the group.

A tall man who had been shoving the woman looked at her.

“We caught a spy.  This woman had Nazi boyfriends.”

Cosima looked the situation over again.

“A spy?  Nazi boyfriends?  How do you know that?”

“She’s a slut, a whore.  She slept with many of them.  She’s a collaborationist.”

“She lived next to my boyfriend, a resistance hero.  She was watching him and he was taken away,” a woman piped up.

Cosima’s jaw twitched and she looked at Delphine.  She could see her friend’s wide-eyed confusion beginning to become infused with anger.

“Those are pretty serious accusations,” Cosima said, turning back.  “Why don’t you bring her in to the authorities?  They can question her.  If you’re going to find out the truth, they can determine if a crime could have been committed, and maybe she’ll get a fair trial.”

“Half those dogs are collaborationists, too,” the man spat, clearly angered by the intrusion.  “We’re giving her the justice of the people.”

“Look, I worked with the Allied intelligence services.  You’ve punished her.  Why don’t you let us take her in to…”

“What is it to you, anyway, _American_ ,” the man sneered.  “You want to come in here and claim victory like the rest of your countrymen?”

_“Enough.”_

All turned to look at the source of this indignant growl.  Delphine Cormier, with her lady-like appearance and angelic, golden-curled glow stepped forward, her face creased in anger.

“Do you know who you’re talking to,” she snapped at them.  “This _American_ risked her life to come to France, grew medicines for the needy, and helped guide the French army into Paris.  She worked with French agents as well as British and Americans, she helped Spanish guerillas.  Show some respect.”

“And as for this woman,” Delphine indicated the accused woman they held, battered and shorn, “where is your evidence?  When does she get a chance to explain herself?  If she was prostituting herself, she was probably doing it to survive.  It’s not like there has been so much work and money for single women here, of late.  If she had boyfriends, so what?  Sometimes people date, or fall for, foreigners.  Some people do what they do because they must.  Honestly, have you never visited a prostitute before, yourself?  As for Germans, I doubt you would turn down Marlene Dietrich if she were available to you…”

The group was stunned.  The man pushed the injured woman roughly to the side to step toward Delphine.

“Who the hell are _you?_ ”

Cosima saw her chance and grabbed the battered woman’s arm, pulling her away.  She didn’t yell when she spoke again, but her voice was firm, precise.

“She is a true ‘resistance hero.’  She got information out to the Allies and helped coordinate resistance efforts.  She sacrificed herself to have a so-called ‘Nazi boyfriend,’ as you put it, a high-ranking officer from whom she got information vital to the cause.  She put her life on the line and she paid for it.  Now, why don’t you calm down, and we can all work together, here.  This woman’s already been beaten up, so let’s take her to the police or army and they can sort out the truth.”

The man paused, and looked back at his friends.  Another man stepped slightly forward behind him, fists clenched, in support of his buddy.  Other people stood, taken aback, or eased away.  When the man who had been arguing turned back to look at the women again, his eyes were narrowed.  He looked close to action, leaning forward.

“You want to know how I paid?  This,” Delphine said, stepping forward and sliding aside the neckline of her dress to show the still-pink and tight scar on her upper chest.  “This,” she touched the scar behind her ear.  “This,” she pointed down at her shin.  “I was beaten, and I was tortured, and I was sent to go to a prison camp.  But that’s not the worst of it.  My parents were executed, and I spent years among the company of the people I hate.  I hid in fear, wanted by the S.S., and saw my family and friends disappear and get injured.”

She raised her fist, then extended her pointer finger and shook it.

“We have all suffered, but I will _not_ see us free French turn into the thugs who cowed us.” Her arm swung to point at the trembling woman now leaning on Cosima’s arm. “I don’t know what this woman may have done, but she’s not a soldier, and the only way to peace is to have her investigated properly, not beaten on hearsay.”

There was a still moment.  Then the man blinked.

“Come on,” Cosima urged, and took Delphine’s arm, as well.  She turned them all and marched them out to the avenue.

They all walked quickly, almost robotically, each caught up in their own emotions — fear, despair, anger, determination.  Seconds ticked by until Cosima could finally turn her head to look behind them.

“Whew,” she exhaled.  “No-one’s following us.  Now let’s get Mademoiselle…?”  She looked at the woman.

“Matilde.  And it’s true… I… I had German boyfriends…” Her face began crumpling, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes, blood dripping from her lip.  They both looked at her.

“And,” Delphine asked quietly, “did you act against your countrymen?”

“N-no,” the woman choked.  “I… I spent time with Germans, but they were everywhere, in charge… so many people mingled with them.  I tried to ignore the fighting, the politics… One of them was so nice to me, so handsome… I just needed some money, to be cared for… but maybe I deserve…”

Delphine’s lips formed a thin line.

“Don’t.  We’ll get you to the authorities and you’ll get questioned.  I’ll have someone from my lawyer’s firm stop by and check on you.  What you did, who you were with, it might not have supported the resistance, or been noble, but you were far from the only person who did as much.  Attraction, desires… they’re strong, but not simple at times like this.  If you want to think the beating was what you deserved, then take it as your penance and move on.  But I think nobody deserves trial by mob.  Reflect on your true actions, your motivations and conscience.  What they did, assaulting you, was wrong, and that should weigh on their consciences.”

Cosima looked over at Delphine, seeing a fierce light, a strength born not solely of anger but of consideration and righteousness.  She had never seen her quite like this, and the revelation, the depth of her friend’s being and conviction, shook her deep inside.

They proceeded to the gendarmerie, each lost in her own thoughts.


	31. Chapter 31

When they finally got to Delphine’s apartment, they were both weary.  The reception at the police station hadn’t been very sympathetic.

“Oh yes, this has been happening to a lot of women,” one of the intake officers shrugged.  “We can’t investigate them all.”  Although these facts didn’t seem surprising after a few moments’ thought, the news was not welcome.  After some negotiation, Delphine found that Matilde had family to the northwest, and arranged for her to get to them.

“I suppose we should be relieved that they’re not just shooting them,” Cosima had remarked as they neared the front door of Delphine’s building, “I’m sure that’s happening to suspected collaborationists in some cases.”  But it was no great comfort to either of them.  If they were honest with themselves, they both knew that “justice” had a slippery and mutable nature even at less chaotic, emotional times, and there might be many who had committed crimes who would never be confronted, while others who did little wrong might be vilified.

Delphine sighed, but before she could say anything, the concierge approached her.

“Mademoiselle Cormier, a man stopped by for you, named Scott Smith.  He had some boxes he said were for a guest of yours…”

“Ah, okay,” she responded.  Cosima allowed herself a small smile.

“Aw, we missed him.  But at least my stuff is here.”

“What is it?” Delphine asked.

“Some more clothes, a couple other things.  You’ll see.”

“Very well, then.  Jean-Paul, where are these boxes?”

“We brought them up to your door, but I didn’t let him in.  I can send a maintenance man up to help you, if you wish.”

“Uh, yeah, a couple of those are heavy,” Cosima inserted, causing Delphine to raise an eyebrow.

“Okay.  We’ll go up and wait for him.”

“Very well, Mademoiselle.”

Delphine and Cosima took the elevator to her apartment (“ooh, an automatic-button lift.  Very swanky, Mademoiselle Cormier,”) and paused outside to see the boxes.

“Hmm.  When I invited you to stay here, I didn’t know you’d be moving in.”

“Very funny, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to see some of the things I had brought over.”

Cosima looked around her with interest when they entered the well-appointed flat, but immediately and gratefully sank onto the sofa when Delphine offered her a seat.

“Ugh.  I’m sorry, I’m just pretty tired.  The ol’ body isn’t up for too much wandering, yet, I guess.”

“Don’t be silly, I want you to be comfortable and get rest so you can heal.  Can I get you anything?  Water, tea, coffee, wine?”

Cosima grinned.

“What, no maid service?  No butler or cook?”

“I have someone come in now and then, but I prefer to handle things myself,” Delphine replied, giving her friend an admonishing poke on the shoulder.  “Besides, it’s not like I’m a princess.  My family is… was well-off, but my funds aren’t unlimited.”  

She looked down, remembering she might be the last of her kin.  Cosima took her hand and squeezed it, guessing the thoughts crossing Delphine’s mind with the switch of “is” to “was.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, plainly but sincerely.

Delphine nodded and moved toward the kitchen.  

“So?  A refreshment?”

“Can I get one each of a glass of water and some wine?  If that’s not too much trouble… princess?”

“Not at all, ma cherie,” Delphine softly smiled at Cosima’s grin.  She was gone but a moment when the doorbell rang.  There was a pause as she made her way back to Cosima to set the drinks on the coffee table, and then jogged to the door.

“Mademoiselle Cormier,” said the man at the door.

“Yes, if you’ll just help me…”

Cosima levered herself back up and walked toward them.  A man came in bearing a small suitcase and a box.

“Uh, just put everything down here, we’ll have to figure out where it’s going,” Cosima said.

The man nodded and proceeded to carry in the rest of the boxes.  There were a few that left him bent and huffing.  Delphine raised her eyebrows.  He tipped his hat as he left and Cosima slipped him a tip with a cheery “thanks!”

Delphine cocked her head.

“Sooo…?”

“Right.  So, where am I staying?  Where’s the guest bed?”

“Oh, well I… in here,” Delphine answered, pointing.  Cosima picked up the suitcase and reached for a small box, grimacing.

“Oh, let me get that, Cosima.  I know your ribs still hurt you.”

Once these items were placed on the chest at the foot of the bed, Cosima immediately turned around.

“You don’t want to unpack,” Delphine inquired, puzzled.

“Nah, that’ll wait.  It’s just a few clothes and toiletries.”  She led her friend back to the boxes.

“And the rest,” Delphine prompted, as Cosima just stood there, smiling.  The shorter woman glanced at the boxes, and then pointed at one.  

“Open it.”

Delphine pursed her lips, giving Cosima a suspicious look, but she reached down and opened the box.

And stared.

“Cosima… what…?”

“Yeeeesss?”

Delphine pulled the flaps apart and pulled out a large console with a speaker, dials, frequency display and ports for different attachments.  Its housing was a beautifully buffed, inlaid wood.

“You… you got me a wireless?”

“Yeah.  The other parts are in the boxes.  You know, headset, antenna, tube tester.  I, uh, I know it’s not your dad’s, but it seems like it meant so much to you.  And…” She twisted a ring on her finger, her voice growing softer.  “We can get in touch.  If I have to go back to Bletchley, that is.  And we never would have met, if…”

But Delphine had already moved forward, put the wireless on the couch, and was wrapping her arms around her.  Cosima could feel Delphine’s tears dropping against her face and hair and hear her voice hitch when she spoke.

“Thank you… oh, my… Cosima, only you.  Thank you so much.”

They stood embracing each other tightly for moments, just careful not to compress Cosima’s ribs.  Delphine sobbed softly a couple times, and shifted one hand to cradle the back of Cosima’s head.  Cosima closed her eyes, and gently stroked Delphine’s back until her breaths became more even.  Then she pulled back slightly, to look at her friend’s face.

“Hey, you gonna be alright, there?  Is there anything I can do?”  She watched as Delphine smiled slightly, and gave a tiny shake of her head, trying to quell her tears.  “No?  A glass of water and a glass of wine, perhaps?”

Delphine let out a little laugh, and bit her lip, then looked into Cosima’s eyes.  She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against her friend’s.

“Thank you,” she said again.  “It’s wonderful, and so are you.”

They breathed for a moment.  Cosima looked down, an uncertain look on her face.  Delphine took this in, and gave her a little squeeze.

“ _Unh,_ ” Cosima gasped, and Delphine suddenly jumped back.

“Oh, mon dieu,” she exclaimed.  “I pressed your rib!  Are you alright?  Did I hurt you?”

Cosima waved her hand in what was supposed to be a calming motion, but the wince on her face told the truth.

“Uh, just a little… I’m fine.  Relax.  I just think I’ll… sit down…”

Delphine made sure the cushion was clear and helped ease Cosima down.   She shifted, flustered, and then turned to run out of the room.

“Hold on!”

She came scurrying back with a bottle of aspirin, and gave them to Cosima.

“Here…”

Cosima took them and chuckled.

“It’s okay, Delphine, it was only for a moment.  Let’s just have our refreshments and sit down for a bit.”

“Okay… erm, I guess I can have Luc help us move these later.”  She looked around at the boxes.

“Hey, wait.  Take a look in that one first.”  Cosima pointed one out.

Delphine moved over to the box and tugged it open.  She ran a finger over the contents.

“Record albums?”

“Yep.  A little birdie told me you have a player, but most of what you had was classical, so I brought you a little something more modern to perk you up, maybe make you dance.”

“You…” Delphine smiled, and moved back to the sofa.  She sat next to Cosima, squeezing in close due to the wireless now occupying seating space.  

“Let me check your side, though.  I wouldn’t want your wound to have opened up.”  She reached down and untucked Cosima’s blouse.

“Delphine…” Cosima protested, but Delphine only hushed her and moved one hand up her torso, spreading her fingers around her bandage, warm on her skin.

“Just let me see…”

“Del _phine_ ,” Cosima said, firmly this time, and caught the blonde’s wrist, moving it away.  “Just stop.”

Delphine looked up at her.  Her wide, pretty eyes met her friend’s, concerned and questioning.  Cosima blew out a sigh.

“Delphine,” she murmured.  She took another breath, and her eyes were searching, unsure, perhaps a little afraid.

And then she closed them.

And she pressed her lips to Delphine’s in a soft kiss.


	32. Chapter 32

Cosima didn’t hear the ringing.  She only felt the softness of Delphine’s lips, the warm of her breath, smelled the sweetness of the Frenchwoman’s skin, tinged with perfume.  She only felt the pounding rhythm of her own heart, and the tremble in her hands.

And then she felt Delphine put one hand on her shoulder and firmly, if gently, push her away.

Delphine got up.  Cosima blinked, suddenly feeling cold and vulnerable.  She yanked down the bottom of her blouse and stole a glance up at the woman she’d felt compelled to kiss.

Delphine was looking down, straightening her skirt.  She looked up again at Cosima, but her expression seemed unreadable.  She moved to the door and picked up the intercom telephone headset.

“Oui,” she asked.

 _The telephone,_ Cosima realized.   _That’s why she got up.  Or was it?_

“ _Shit,_ ” Cosima mumbled to herself.

Delphine spoke into the intercom.

“Yes, alright, send him up,” she said.

She hung up, and they were briefly silent.  Cosima looked at Delphine, and saw that she was standing near the door, arms crossed, biting her lip.  Her eyes fluttered in Cosima’s direction, then back to the door again.

“It’s Scott,” she explained.  “He said he had something important to tell you.  He’s on his way up.”

“Oh.”  Cosima slowly nodded.

It was but a minute before the telltale sound of the elevator door announced its arrival.  A moment later, and the doorbell rang.  Delphine opened the door.

“Delphine,” Scott said, “I’m sorry to rush over like this.” His cheeks were flushed and a bit sweaty, his voice fading as if he was somewhat out of breath.

“No, it’s fine.  Come in.”  Delphine stepped back so he could enter.

He came barreling in, stopped in the hall, and turned in a half-circle until he spotted Cosima.  He hurried over to her.

“Sorry, Cosima, but I just found out something.”

“Okay, Scott, settle down.  Here.”  She handed him her untouched glass of water and he gratefully drank, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his brow.  Delphine entered and waited behind him, hands clasped.  He swallowed and pushed his wire-framed glasses back up his nose.

“Okay,” he breathed, looking at the box on the sofa.  He carefully picked it up and put it down beside the couch so he could sit next to his friend and fellow agent.  “I probably should have talked with you about this first, but I was talking things over with Danielle, and we decided it was time I’d better report in and tell our superiors where we are.”

Cosima’s eyebrows shot up her forehead, but her tone remained even.

“Okay… and?”

“Well, you know I had to, even if I’d rather not, because technically I’m in the military, even though you’re not, and well, people could be looking for us, or contacting our families, or folks that helped us out might get in trouble.”  He gave her a significant look.

“Alright, I’ve gotcha.  So what happened?”

“Well, I finally contacted an American army representative, and he contacted the British, and they got in touch with Bletchley.  They’re gonna get back to us soon with orders, but they said to be prepared to go to New Guinea!”

“New Guinea?”  Cosima’s jaw dropped.  “That’s nearly halfway around the world!  What for?”

“I think they want us working on Japanese codes in the Pacific.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Cosima’s hands flew to her head, as if to keep her thoughts from exploding.  “The Japanese codes have been figured out for a long time, now.  Unless they got something new?  But either way, why us?  We have much more experience in the European theatre…”

“I don’t know, Cosima.  Maybe they think there’s something they really need us for?  Or maybe…” he swallowed, “to punish us?”

“Damn it, no… that can’t be right.”  She rose and took a few steps toward the window, just needing to move.  Her eyes flicked over to Delphine, whose hand was over her mouth, and then back to Scott.

“When?  Do they know we’re still convalescing?”

“Nothing’s definite.  We should be getting a more direct message soon, but…” He looked worried.

Cosima straightened herself up and took in a breath.  In the quiet of the tense room, they could hear the touch of a wheeze in it, and how she had to clear her throat slightly before speaking.

“Okay, I’m going to have to talk to them.  Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll…”

“No,” Delphine said.

The two Americans blinked at her.

“Huhn?”  Cosima had stopped cold, perplexed.

“No, don’t go.  You’ve just gotten here and you’re exhausted already.  I can hear your breathing getting worse and I know you’re still in pain.  Nothing is definite, Scott said.  Right, Scott?”

Scott blew out his cheeks, then nodded.

“Right, yes.  These weren’t official orders, yet…”

“Good,” Delphine stated firmly. “So you can go and tell them.  Tell them about Cosima’s lungs and ribs and the burns on your arm.  Tell them being moved that far could jeopardize your health.  Tell them you are still… consulting with important members of the resistance — surely, Danielle can help you with that  — and, and… is there a protocol for how you get assigned?  Can you make a request?  Cosima, she, she’s technically a civilian contractor, yes?”

Scott was also gaping at her sudden insistence.

“Uh, yeah, yes, that’s all possible, I guess.  I can… talk to Danielle and I can get back to them and then call you when I hear something.”  He gave a sideways glance at Cosima.  He knew she usually liked to jump into solving things herself, but she did seem tired, and nonplussed by Delphine’s rapid-fire outburst.  She merely gave him a wide-eyed look and nodded.

“Okay, then,” he said, standing up.  “Can I just use your phone to call Danielle?”

“Of course.  This way.”  Delphine led him into another room, and soon the slightly muffled sound of his voice conversing on the telephone started.  Cosima stood with her arms crossed, turning the last half an hour over and over again in her head.  She was still standing there when Delphine and Scott reappeared, her ushering him out.

“Hang in there and get some rest, Cosima,” Scott called to her as he moved toward the door.  “I’ll call you, and you can talk with them tomorrow, if you feel better.”  Cosima nodded and both of them disappeared from view down the hall.  There was a short rumble of low, unintelligible conversation, and then the door closed, and Scott’s footsteps died away.

There was a moment of silence, and then Delphine came striding into the room.  She went directly to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a short glass of cognac, which she downed in little more than two gulps.

Cosima stared at her.  Delphine had her eyes focused out the window, away from the woman she’d just professed concern about.  After a moment, Cosima cleared her throat.

“Look, Delphine, I’m really sorry about before.  I was just… I was out of line.  I made a mistake, and, and I hope you can forgive me.  Your friendship means so much to me, I… Delphine?”

Delphine half turned her head over her shoulder toward her, without really meeting her gaze.

“What was that you said before, about bringing music to perk us up?  Why don’t you put some on?  I think I could use the… atmosphere.”

Cosima blinked for a moment and then acquiesced.

“Ohhkaayyy,” she acknowledged, and moved to the record box.  She gazed down at it, the album titles something of a blur to her at the moment.

Delphine turned around and looked at her.  She leaned over, propping her elbows on the back of a large chair near her, as if both moving casually closer and maintaining a divider between them.  Her voice came out softer, lower, now.  The staccato movements of the high tension moments before seemed to be easing.

“Pick whatever you want.  One of your favourite songs.  What were you thinking you’d play for me when you got them?”

Cosima cocked her head, then knelt down.  She pulled out a record, and moved to the curved, art deco phonograph console.  She let the tubes warm up and the turntable reach 78 rpm, and placed the needle on the shellac.

A saxophone began a jazzy introduction, and then a woman’s voice jumped in.  It was warm, but somehow weary and frayed, the delivery of the words bright and somewhat staccato, but slightly slurred as well, as if she sang in imitation of a muted horn playing a solo.  Cosima closed her eyes to hear the first verse.

 _I've been around the world in a plane_   
_Settled revolutions in Spain_   
_The North Pole I have charted_   
_But can't get started with you_

She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned around.  Delphine was right in front of her, lips curved slightly upward.  She put one hand on Cosima’s hip and held up the other.  Almost automatically, Cosima took the cue, echoing her position and joining their raised hands together.  They began a slow and basic step-and-slide, gently swaying, Delphine in the lead.  Cosima’s posture was slightly stiff, pulled back, carefully maintaining a distance between them.  She looked up at Delphine, who met her eyes with a soft, half-lidded gaze.

“Hm, the traveling in the lyrics.  That sounds like you,” Delphine said quietly, with a small, throaty chuckle. “This is Billie Holiday, non?” Cosima’s forehead furrowed upward.

“Uh… yeah…” she managed absently, seeming uncertain, and careful.  
  
 _I’ve got a house and a show-place_  
 _But can’t get no place with you_

“Cosima, you know I grew up in Paris.  I’m not just a country girl.”  She leaned closer, her mouth beside Cosima’s ear.  “I know what it means to be an _amazone_ , an invert, as they say in Britain.”  Cosima’s fingers twitched, her clutch squeezing a little bit tighter on Delphine’s hand.

Delphine eased back to look at her again.

“My parents actually took me to the salon of Natalie Barney, once.  There were artists, writers, lovely people of all persuasions.  Even if one woman was a little bit… insistent…”

“Delphine—“ Cosima interjected, her tone apologetic.

“Shh, let me finish,” Delphine stopped her.

 _You're so supreme_   
_Lyrics I write of you_   
_Dream, dream day and night of you_   
_Scheme, just for a sight of you_   
_Baby but what good does it do?_

“We’ve been through so much,” Delphine continued.  “I, I’ve always felt a bond with you.  But I began to realize… maybe it wasn’t just friendship, for you.”

Cosima sucked in a breath, her lower lip slightly trembling.

“And I didn’t know… there was no time to think things through.  And I almost lost you.  And now, if they take you from Paris…”

They were barely swaying now, the bridge of the song swirling behind them, the saxophone crooning in a voice like honey.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” Delphine said simply, and untangled their fingers to reach up and stroke Cosima’s cheek.  There was a moment of suspension, where their eyes roamed each other’s faces in subtle movements, while the music unfurled like the hum of the universe around them, and the dust hovered in the air, in the late, golden sunglow that slid horizontally through the window and turned them luminous.  And then Delphine kissed her.

Her lips were soft, but slowly insistent, pressing forward until Cosima opened hers with a small moan.  Maybe this was new to Delphine, maybe she had never done it before, but her embrace grew firmer, gently avoiding Cosima’s injured ribs, fingers splaying at the small of her back.  Her lips grasped, head turning to different angles, exploring, and her tongue ran over Cosima’s bottom lip in one seductive stroke.

Cosima snapped out of her trance.  She let her hands roam through Delphine’s hair, down the back of her neck, along her sides and shoulders.  She dipped her tongue into the Frenchwoman’s sweet mouth, and invited her deeper, tongues sliding against one another.  Cosima felt a satisfying thrill as Delphine moaned in return.  All of her nerves, her self-recriminations, censorship and worries were floating away, numbed, dulled, and then consumed in that kiss.

They were pressed sternum to sternum, breast to breast, hearts nearly thumping against one another, when Delphine broke the kiss.

“Cosima,” she panted, her gaze almost drunken.  “Je t'aime.  I want you.  I know it now.  I want to make love with you.”

“ _God,_ ” Cosima groaned, “ _Delphine_.”

They kissed their way to Delphine’s bedroom, narrowly avoiding tripping over the boxes, bumping into the doorframe.  Cosima hissed when they fell on the bed, and Delphine pulled back, worried, gently touching her fingertips to the smaller woman’s ribs.

“I’m sorry.  Are you alright?  Should I stop?”

“It’s nothing.  Jesus, Delphine, don’t stop.”

They pressed against one another, undulating, kissing hungrily.  Delphine ran her hands under Cosima’s shirt, feeling her smooth flesh, her muscles flexing.  Cosima clawed at the buttons on the back of Delphine’s dress, trying to reach her skin.  Delphine moaned and pulled her mouth away, resting her forehead against Cosima’s.  She bit her lip.

“Are… are _you_ alright,” Cosima asked her, eyes probing, concerned.

“Yes,” Delphine replied.  It was almost a whisper.  A tear fell from her eye and tracked its way down her cheek.  “It’s just… I haven’t been touched like this… with caring, respect, desire for _all_ of me… haven’t _wanted_ to be touched, in _so long_.”

Cosima swallowed, and caressed her face, wiping the tear with her thumb.

“We can go as slow as you want, as you need,” she said.  “I only want to touch you how and when you want to be touched.”

Delphine turned her head to kiss the American’s thumb.

“I don’t want to stop,” she affirmed.  “I just think I’ve… I’m feeling so much.  I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Okay,” Cosima reassured her, “okay.”

They kissed again, but it was slower, now.  Their yearning showed in their touches, their trembles, but each gave reverence, respect.

They removed each other’s clothes languidly, letting themselves feel each touch, and meeting one another’s eyes for permission.

They caressed and kissed the smooth planes of one another’s skin, but also the scars, the welts, the bruises.  Each tremble was met with a steady hand, until muscles relaxed, then tightened again, this time with shudders and shivers of pleasure.

Delphine thought she was going to lose her mind when Cosima’s mouth moved to her breasts, teasing and doling out long, soft licks, then flicking and sucking.  Her body, once so armoured, was becoming warm, and loose.  Her hips rolled upward to meet Cosima’s above her, her face a portrait of desire.

Cosima’s hands and mouth travelled her body, and she reached out to touch, to cup and stroke, squeeze and fondle, in return.  They gloried in the feel of each other, but also in the feeling that they knew one another, had been working towards this for a long time, maybe longer than either knew, and now that they were together, nothing felt uncertain.  It just seemed _right._

“I love you, I love you,” Cosima whispered when she slid her fingers inside Delphine, looking into her eyes.

“Uhn… I love you, Cosima.  Je t'aime,” Delphine replied, as the narrative of her mind fled, and she became lost in sensation.

They both cried, after her orgasm, the screaming release and the clutching hands, the flood of relief that _life was good_.  They fit together, even as Cosima babied one side of her ribcage, even as Delphine bit her lip and looked to Cosima’s face for approval as she touched her in return.  

Delphine marveled at the warmth, the softness, the strength of the muscles that enveloped her fingers, the way sensation clouded Cosima’s eyes, but she still remained patient, gentle, until Delphine arrived upon the right curl, the right motion and sweep of her thumb, and then Cosima wrapped her legs around her lover’s hips and bucked, riding her hand with a beautiful, wild abandon, until she came, moaning an extended “ohhh,” sending a rush of wetness flowing down Delphine’s wrist.

They laid there, entangled, exhausted, breathing.  They kissed.

“I’m not going to lose you,” Delphine finally said, insistent.  “We’ll figure out something.  I can’t let you go.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Cosima agreed, but she stared at the ceiling.

Everything was so perfect.  How could it last?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome. ;)  
> P.S.: It should be easy to guess where we are on the playlist from this one.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, my friends, the last chapter and the epilogue. Many thanks to everyone who read this and joined me on the journey, and heartfelt appreciation to anyone who reblogged, linked, kudo'ed, commented or sent asks or messages — you are the writer's lifeblood. I hope you enjoyed it, and will consider reading my other stories.

Delphine awoke to a satisfied ache in her core, a buzzing under her skin.  There was a soft breeze sighing through the window, rippling the curtains lightly, and ghosting over the sheets.  She stretched her long body, torso, neck and limbs, all the way down to her fingers and toes.  They felt a little heavy, but sensitive, fully inhabited, compared to how they had been barely noticed, willfully ignored, before.

It took her a moment to realize Cosima wasn’t there, in the bed with her, but when she rolled on her side, the sheets were just slightly damp, and the unmistakable smell of her lover’s skin lingered on the pillow.

It was morning, traffic moving outside, birds singing.  She rose and pulled on her silk robe, then padded out of the room.

There was the sound of a low voice from down the hall, Cosima’s quirky rhythm of English, the sweet depth of the placement of her tones in her throat and chest.  Delphine followed it to her father’s den.

“Alright, thank you, sir,” she heard, and she peeped around the doorframe to see Cosima, also in a robe, headset on, speaking into the wireless.  The brunette turned the machine off and, looking thoughtful, leaned back in her chair.

“You set it up,” Delphine said, and Cosima’s head turned to see her.

“Oh, hi.  Hi, gorgeous.”  They exchanged true smiles.  “I didn’t know you were up.”

“I am, just now.  You put it all together.” She nodded to indicate the wireless.  “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Nah, I was careful.  Maybe wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but… let’s say I had a surge of energy that really got me going this morning.”  Her grin widened, and Delphine entered the room, taking the few steps to approach her, leaning down.

“Is that so,” she asked, and brushed her lips against Cosima’s.  They slid into a long, sensual kiss, glorying in each other’s touch. Cosima hummed and Delphine pulled back a few inches, sitting on the arm of her chair.

“Are you going to tell me whom you were talking to,” she questioned, running one hand through Cosima’s dark hair, and then down her cheek to her chin.

“I was talking to the Prof., himself, one of my bosses, Alan Turing.” Cosima registered Delphine’s questioning look.  “Of course, you wouldn’t have heard of him, but he’s brilliant, absolutely genius.  I can’t even begin to comprehend the way his mind approaches and solves mathematics.  I mean, I’ve been following his work in a basic way to help with wireless transmission and decoding, but he’s pushed whole teams of people who have been cracking codes, translating secret messages at the highest level from the Germans, the Russians… It’s not my forté, exactly… I’ve always been more of a biology girl, fascinated with natural development and patterns, but he’s opened up a whole new world for me.  I mean, he thinks we can build machines that handle the translation and generation of complex symbols nearly autonomously at great volume, someday… not just the breaking down of codes, but an actual sort of _computing intelligence_ , as if the machine was _thinking_ , itself.”  Her hands had begun arcing, twisting, punctuating her excitement and wonder at what she was saying.

“You know, we even talked about decoding and calculating morphogenesis.  Like, holy cow, there could be equations, and a machine that computes them to figure out how organisms change and grow… how they differentiate cells and form changes, first simple, then radiating in complexity, to create shapes and patterns, from the spots on horse’s hide to, to… well everything, pretty much.”

 _“Merde…”_ Delphine gasped, brain racing.  “Can you imagine the medical implications for that? The, the practical translation of cellular actions and development… the ability to decode how illnesses work, viruses and host-parasite relationships…”

They both trailed off, staring at each other in wonder.  Then Delphine broke a smile.

“So, you set up my wireless you gave me to talk to this Professor about theoretical mathematics?”

Cosima chuckled, and ran her hand up Delphine’s back.

“No.  Uh, like I said, he’s one of my bosses, and we just hit it off, for several reasons…” she briefly nuzzled Delphine’s neck.  “You know, we’re not the only scientists who enjoy a little ‘inversion’ now and then…”

Delphine’s mouth formed an O, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I’m good at getting to know folks,” Cosima grinned, a little proud.  Delphine was proud of her also, for so many reasons.

“You _are_ quite the charmer,” she acknowledged, kissing her nose, and feeling a delightful wash of satisfaction as Cosima’s cheeks pinked and glowed.

“Anyway, so, I realized I was being stupid, just waiting for a call from who knows whom, and that I could set this up and talk directly to the higher-ups at Bletchley, myself.”

“I see.” Delphine looked at her expectantly.  “And what did he say?”

“Hanslope,  Buckinghamshire.  About sixty miles out of London.  He’s going to be working further on these calculating, code-breaking machines, but I’m to help on a project looking into the guidance system of a new kind of German missile.  It seems the Nazis aren’t done, yet… they’ve been testing these rockets that, that could fly further than any launched from land before, so they won’t even need airplanes to bomb…”

They exchanged sober looks, smiles fading.  After a moment, Cosima cleared her throat.

“You know… it’s not New Guinea.  England isn’t that far.”

Delphine met her gaze, and ran her fingers down the collar of Cosima’s robe.

“I know,” her teeth caught her bottom lip.  “Especially… especially if I go there, too?”

Cosima blinked, the words sinking in, then she pulled at Delphine’s waist so hard that the blonde fell into her lap.

“Yes,” Cosima breathed, showering kisses on her face and neck.  “Oh God, yes, come with me…”

Their mouths met in a forceful kiss, clinging to one another in affirmation, need, commitment.  

_Danielle will look after Paris, Delphine’s mind briefly decided.  They can have my apartment.  I don’t want to be anywhere but with Cosima, my love…_

_Yes,_ Cosima’s consciousness chanted, _yes yes yes,_ her genius, hyperactive brain overwhelmed by pure feeling, emotion.

They would have to make plans, work things out.  They didn’t know what Cosima’s employers and the Allied military branches would allow.  There would be paperwork, and arrangements, friends to embrace, to wish goodbyes to, even if they hoped it was not forever.  They didn’t know what this would mean for Danielle and Scott, for their careers or studies or any other part of their futures.  They only knew that they would face it all, together.

 

 


	34. Epilogue

 

They shared a little cottage near the offices of the Radio Security Service.  Cosima would work on the project to jam guidance systems for the A-4, or V-2, rockets, while Delphine was allowed to contribute her talents to aid the Voluntary Interceptors, or “Secret Listeners,” who monitored wireless transmissions from all over Europe.  Cosima came home frustrated more often than not, but would be easily soothed by Delphine’s ministrations.  It wasn’t much later that it was discovered that the rockets had no wireless guidance systems, after all, as they rained down on England, France, Belgium and the Netherlands.  With the Germans being pushed back and so many resources being aimed at anti-missile artillery and already decodable wireless transmissions, Cosima’s request to be allowed to return to California was accepted.  Little did she know, she would see some of the German scientists responsible for the V-2 rockets years later, delivering a lecture on their work in the American space program, later to become the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA.)

Scott and Danielle maintained occasional contact, but agreed to end their romantic relationship not long after his transfer.  With Cosima’s departure, he was to remain in England just past the German surrender and V-E Day.  Upon his honourable discharge, he joined Cosima and Delphine at the University of California, Berkeley, where they each completed their doctorates in Microbiology or, in Delphine’s case, Medicine.  They would later share stories of the “weird goings-on in the Radiation Lab,” and how amazed they were when they found out that the lab had played a big part in the Manhattan Project, which developed the atomic bombs dropped on Japan, forcing the swift end of the war in the Pacific.  The horror and conflict between moral and strategic narratives would haunt them the rest of their lives.  Scott would eventually move to Minneapolis to take a position at the University.  He and his wife, Alison, raised two children whose fondness for “Auntie Cosima,” to their mother’s irritation, sometimes seemed to border on obsession.

Danielle, given stewardship of Delphine’s apartment in Paris and the Cormier country home, continued to aid the needy in Paris through the end of the war.  The sale of a number of Delphine’s belongings was arranged, and the profits donated to help the Lafranges afford a new home, where the much-revered docteur and his wife returned to their practice.   Much to their joy, their son who had gone off when the Germans invaded returned to them safely, surprising them by bringing a very pregnant Romani wife with him.  The Lafranges accepted her with open arms.

Suddenly, the news came that Delphine’s cousin, Laurent, had returned from a dubious period of hiding in Morocco.  Delphine and Cosima were finally able to visit the Cormier estate, and share time roaming the haunts of Delphine’s youth.  After the cousins’ joyful reunion, Laurent helped convert the home to a refuge for orphans and battered women, while living in the guest property and becoming a riding instructor to the local upper class.  

Meanwhile, Danielle returned to journalism, becoming the political hound of an editor at a well-respected news magazine.  She eventually happily remarried, but had no children, preferring to devote her nurturing to an adopted pack of stray dogs, whom Delphine and Cosima came to refer to as “the problem children,” with affection.  She was much-respected and received multiple awards.  A bust commemorating her was commissioned and placed in the park near her birthplace, two years after her death in 1996.

As the Nuremburg trials of Nazi leaders progressed between 1945 and 1949, it became clear that Öberführer Aldous Werner Heidenreich von Leekie was not considered important enough to warrant being captured and arrested.  Although Delphine claimed to have banished him from her daily thoughts, there were times, now and then, when she would awake in the night, thrashing and crying, and Cosima would have to hold her until she could fall back asleep.  In 1953, she sat up in bed with wide eyes, and uttered to her partner “I dreamt I killed him.”  Four months later, they received a small press clipping from a French paper in the mail, containing the information that the body of this Nazi “infamous for his devilish acts as a top S.S. administrator in Paris” had been found in a shallow ditch near Bratislava, bearing multiple contusions and the marks of a noose around his neck.  Curiously, although he had been in plain clothes, a portion of his former uniform bearing his name tag and singed at the edges was found arranged in his hand.  No suspects were ever named, and no witnesses found.  Danielle claimed no knowledge of the affair or the mailed clipping.

Die Klinge had been killed in a bombing in Berlin at the very end of the war.  Klaus Barbie, the infamous “Butcher of Lyon,” who was finally extradited to France for trial for war crimes in 1983 from Bolivia, where the U.S. Army Counter Intelligence Corps had helped him flee in return for his help in anti-communist and interrogation efforts, once said from his prison cell: “Die Klinge was the most precise and committed interrogator I ever knew.  If he had been alive, Che Guevara wouldn’t have lived past [the age of] 38.”

Unfortunately, Gaizka suffered infections to his wounds.  A British medical team, guided by an ambulance driver called Sarah Manning, found him and brought him back to a field hospital for treatment.  Despite a double amputation, he did not survive.  As no family could be found or contacted, he was buried in Ranville War Cemetery in Normandy, France.

Delphine and Cosima settled in San Francisco, close to their dear friend Felix.  The war and its end had seen an influx of homosexuals to the city, and, although things were never easy, they found support in that community.  Some years later, after some troubles with a predatory employer, Delphine found herself in need of full citizenship, and she and Felix, who had found someone to pull strings to get his a few years earlier, were nominally and quietly married, solving legal issues for both of them.  They divorced some time later, but Cosima would routinely refer to her beloved life partner as “Mrs. Dawkins” when she found them having one of their excited chats about fashion.  

Sarah Manning, her daughter, and her husband Cal were able to visit twice, the reunion of the foster siblings leading to a full day of joyful tears, and some trouble with the law at a local bar later that night.  Felix visited them in London as often as possible, and became godfather and close friend to his niece, Kira.

After achieving some infamy due to dalliances with wealthy young gentlemen under his riding instruction, Laurent made his way to San Francisco and charmed his way into the household in record time.  To no-one’s surprise, he and Felix began a life-long, on-again/off-again affair-cum-friendship, sometimes partners in bed, sometimes partners in crime.  Laurent became a bartender, a well-loved local party host and raconteur, and later co-owner of and mainstay at a popular gay nightclub.  He was mourned greatly by the community upon his passing, in 1989, from AIDS-related complications.  

In their early forties, Delphine and Cosima took in a local street youth, Alvin Carter.  They were unable to obtain official guardianship before he reached legal adulthood, but later were able to formally adopt him, in a meaningful expression of love shared between them, his girlfriend and their now-adoptive grandchild.  When he assumed the office of City Councilman some years later, his acceptance speech was punctuated by a heartfelt homage of thanks that a homeless, half-African American, half-Filipino kid could be taken in by a loving couple of two women who had survived discrimination for who they were and near-death fighting the good fight in World War II, and be raised to be a strong, committed person who would use his position to help the community.  He served three terms, married his girlfriend (now a Child Psychologist and author,) and had two more children.  He currently works as the CEO of an international non-profit organization helping disenfranchised youth and promoting understanding between cultures.

In the 1970s, Cosima won the first of two awards for distinguished contributions to the field of microbiology.  In the 1980s, Delphine took a teaching position at a well-respected medical school.

Kira moved to San Francisco in 1969, wanting to be part of the Gay Rights Revolution.  Although she faced difficulties on and off for years for identifying as bisexual, and then polyamorous, society eventually caught up with her, somewhat.  In 2002, she became the popular star of a reality show called “Kira Knows All,” following her New-Age lifestyle and her work as an acclaimed psychic.  She retired to the mountains in Colorado in 2010, but still produces a weekly podcast.

Her mother and father passed in 1999 and 1997, respectively, both in their sleep.  Her uncle Felix, after at last gaining recognition for his painting late in life, enjoyed a period of international acclaim, popularity and travel, until his mysterious disappearance from a sinking yacht in 2009.  His body was found, two years later and only recently deceased, on a small island off of Tahiti.  There was a garland of flowers on his head, a coconut bowl of the local, mildly intoxicating and euphoria-inducing kava drink by his side, and a serene smile on his face.

Scott Smith and his wife, Alison, live with their grandchildren near Bonita Springs, Florida.  They attribute their long lives to love, clean living (Alison joined AA in 1980) and being avid golfers.  They still root for their favourites on the PGA Champions tour, although Scott can no longer hear the announcers.

In June, 2008, Ms. Cosima Niehaus and Ms. Delphine Cormier were legally married at a small senior housing community in San Francisco, California.  They shared one last trip to France, as their “honeymoon,” this time with their children and grandchildren accompanying them.

Their children and grandchildren still visit them, in a small patch of private land, beneath a group of towering sequoias, where their ashes were scattered.  There is a small marker there, reading:

_Cosima and Delphine Cormier-Niehaus_   
_1916-2008_

  
_The life that I have/Is all that I have/And the life that I have/Is yours._   
_The love that I have/Of the life that I have/Is yours and yours and yours._   
_A sleep I shall have/A rest I shall have/Yet death will be but a pause_   
_For the peace of my years/In the long green grass/Will be yours and yours and yours._

_Ils se disent, ma colombe/Que tu rêves, morte encore/_   
_Sous la pierre d'une tombe/Mais pour l'âme qui t'adore_   
_Tu t'éveilles ranimée/Ô pensive bien-aimée!_

 

 

FIN.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epitaphs are taken from two poems. The first, The Life That I Have, seems simple, but it was actually a poem code written by a cryptographer from the SOE, a British organization that conducted espionage and sabotage in occupied France, to use as a code key for a young French-English woman who was sent to spy on the Germans in the waning months of the occupation of France. You can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Life_That_I_Have
> 
> The second is an excerpt from the poem _L'Enamourée (The Beloved,)_ written by Théodore de Banville in 1859. You can find the full poem and two translations here: http://www.poemswithoutfrontiers.com/LEnamouree.html, http://meredith.bandcamp.com/track/l-enamouree and a version of the poem set to music by Reynaldo Hahn on my playlist for this story at http://theswanandthedove.blogspot.com.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
